All the King's Horses
by Probeda
Summary: Finished! The alcalde remains silent as a tide of lawlessness threatens Los Angeles. Zorro rides to meet it, but will the cost be higher than Diego can pay?
1. Default Chapter

Author's Notes: I am a fan of both Zorro TV series, but I felt the FAM Zorro lends itself to fiction better, so that is the paradigm this is based upon. I suppose everyone has a "what is the cost of being Zorro" story, and this is mine. It was inspired in part by Icyfire's fabulous "Wounded Fox". I also felt that the burden of Zorro's secret might have a heavier price for Felipe than is much explored. This is just the first chapter of what will likely be a long work, but I wanted to see people's reactions to how it is going, so I decided to throw it up here. It was supposed to be purely a character study sort of story, but then it developed an actual plot, so it's going in a bit of a different direction than I'd planned.   
  
  
Toronado's hooves thundered against the hard dry ground of the gulch as they ran under the comfortingly anonymous darkness filling the very early hours of the morning. The lancers had fallen off the chase miles ago, and so the incredible speed they kept was not strictly necessary, but Zorro found the need to keep up the pace. And truly, Toronado seemed to be in as much of a hurry as he was to be home.  
  
Zorro had ridden every night this week and many of the days as well. With Don Alejandro gone to Mexico to visit his friend Don Fernando, the alcalde had grown bolder in his treatment of the citizens of Los Angeles and Zorro had been kept quite busy. Added to that Diego's responsibilities in his father's absence, it had been quite a tiring week for the man who was cabellero's son and vigilante both. At least Toronado did not have to ride out with the vaqueros every morning.   
  
Toronado finally swept into the familiar cave entrance and Diego sighed in relief as he slipped out of the saddle. Giving into his weariness for a moment, he crossed his arms on the high elegant saddle and laid his head on them for a moment. Toronado snorted softly in sympathy and after a moment he felt the   
  
horse's hot breath and then soft nose against his shoulder. Lifting his head, he smiled and ran a gloved hand through the sweaty mane. As much as he would like to simply collapse into Don Diego's bed, mask and all, he knew he needed to take care of his friend first and complete the transition from masked bandit to   
unassuming nobleman's son.  
  
The saddle felt like it weighed a thousand pounds when he reached up to take it from the stallion's high back. Toronado tossed his head in gladness at having the weight lifted from him and Diego stroked his mane again to quiet him. Picking up the silver inlaid brush, Diego began the long process of brushing   
and cooling his horse. The stallion snorted in appreciation and quivered in pleasure as the stiff bristles scraped the dirt and sweat from his skin.   
  
"I know, my friend," Diego whispered in his most calming voice while rubbing the brush in soothing, repetitive circles. "You are tired and have run very hard today. I am afraid you will be needed yet again tomorrow so rest now."  
  
He continued to murmur to his horse and brush him down, his exhausted mind heedless of the minutes that slowly drifted past.  
  
An indeterminable time later, he felt a soft touch on his arm and spun to find Felipe's concerned gaze on him.   
  
"You should be in bed," he said sternly. "Just because Zorro rides does not mean that you must lose sleep as well."  
  
*I can take care of Toronado,* Felipe signed, his young face filled with worry.   
  
Diego smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder affectionately. "It is all right. I am nearly finished and it is really very late."  
  
Felipe's look told him he knew that as he picked up a cloth and rubbed it over the horse's skin.   
  
"Felipe," Diego began, but the boy's expression silenced any further words on his part. Together, they finished cooling Toronado before giving him some water and feed.   
  
Without so much as a gesture Felipe pushed Diego somewhat forcefully onto the bench by his work table and began to remove his boots. Diego would have stopped it, but Felipe's strangely aggressive mood and his own tired body prevented him. He sat passively while Felipe helped him out of the bulk of his costume. He fell into a bit of a stupor, moving only when Felipe pushed him this way or that. He felt a sharp tug on his shirt and found Felipe staring at a rip high on the right sleeve.   
  
*Musket? * Felipe signed.  
  
"Yes, but as you can see, it is nothing serious."  
  
Felipe didn't look too convinced as he manhandled his mentor until he allowed him to remove the shirt and get a good look at the arm. Truly, it was not anything to be concerned about, although the small gash from the bullet was deeper than Diego had thought it would be. Felipe insisted on cleaning and bandaging it and Diego let him, still confused by the boy's angry mood.  
  
"Felipe, my friend, truly you need not worry about it. You cannot expect even Sergeant Mendoza's men not to get lucky once in a while."  
  
Felipe was still for a moment but when he 'spoke', it was in a veritable storm of furious gestures.  
  
*Nothing? Nothing, like this was nothing? * he signed, gesturing at another cut Zorro had received high on his side earlier in the week. *Or these? * he pointed to an older wound on his forearm and then at the half dozen or so other old scars littering Diego's upper body. The rapid gestures stopped suddenly and Felipe whirled around so that his face was no longer visible.   
  
Diego pulled him over to sit next to him on his bench. Taking the boy's chin in his hand, he raised his face until their eyes met. "What is it? What is bothering you this evening?"  
  
Felipe shrugged, clearly frustrated with his inability to communicate his feelings. *Zorro has been very busy lately.*  
  
Diego frowned, trying to understand what his young friend was trying to tell him. "Yes. With my father gone away, none of the other cabelleros have the courage to oppose the alcalde. And this new group of bandits seems unusually bold."  
  
Felipe frowned. *If the alcalde spent as much time chasing bandits as Zorro they wouldn't be a problem.*  
  
Diego had to smile. "Yes, that is probably true. But this is nothing new."  
  
Felipe's hand rested lightly on his bandaged arm for a second. He tried to turn away again, but Diego caught his face in one hand and brought it back around.   
  
"Ah," Diego said, taking in the slight circles under his friend's eyes and his pale, haunted countenance. "You had one of those dreams again, didn't you? Which was it this time?"  
  
Felipe nodded and sighed. *It was the same as last time. Zorro was captured and the alcalde had him shot.*  
  
"As you can see, I am quite alive," Diego said, trying to keep his voice light. "I cannot promise you that nothing will ever happen to me, but I can say that I have no more wish to be ensnared by the alcalde than you have wish to see it happen."  
  
Felipe nodded though it was clear his fears were not much alleviated. It was easy to forget at times that his silent friend was no longer truly a boy. And he had always been very observant, even when young.  
  
*Come* Felipe signed, his expression still troubled but resigned. *We should go to bed. We have to meet with the vaqueros early tomorrow, don't we?*   
  
"Yes," Diego said, allowing Felipe to haul him to his feet. "Father has asked me to look after things and I don't want to give him any further reason to be disappointed."  
  
Felipe's expression became slightly stony again, but he said nothing further as he helped Diego into his own clothes.   
  
They entered the main bulk of the hacienda quietly to avoid waking curious servants. Diego ushered Felipe back to his room with promises of his own to go directly to bed.   
  
His body confirmed the wisdom of that plan as aching muscles relaxed on the soft mattress, but his mind wouldn't completely let go of consciousness yet. Too many things to dwell on these days. Felipe was right. Zorro had been kept very busy of late. The nightly rides robbed most of his normal sleeping time and he could not fall back on his usual lazy persona to excuse his getting up at noon. With Don Alejandro planning to be gone for over a month, his son could no longer tarry in bed till early afternoon.   
  
As he'd intimated to Felipe, he certainly could not afford to disappoint his father any further. Their arguments, which before had been more amiably frustrated than truly angry, had escalated into near nastiness of late. He suspected his father's sudden trip had as much to do with that as any truly pressing engagements. He remembered their last battle with the queer, intense pain that only those you loved the most could cause you.  
  
His father had come home in a rush from the pueblo carrying news of the alcalde's latest treachery. . .   
  
"DeSoto tried to hang three men today for the robberies that have been occurring along the road to Santa Paulo. If Zorro had not shown up with the real bandits, innocent men would have died," Alejandro said, both disgust with the alcalde and pride in Zorro evident in his tone.  
  
"Ah," Diego said, keeping his voice carefully neutral, "Zorro again. It seems I chose the wrong day to stay at home."  
  
Alejandro's face became very still as if he battled with himself over something. "You always choose the wrong day to stay home. Of course Zorro had to come to the rescue. No one else ever does! It would serve us right if he decided it was no longer worth the effort."  
  
Diego shrugged. "I think it a bit strange myself, all this riding around in masks."  
  
"You're right, it is strange. Strange that a man should be forced to risk his life day after day when others should be joining him. One of these days one of those muskets is going to find a target and where will we be? Zorro has been taking far too many chances of late."  
  
Diego forced a laugh. "I thought Zorro was supposed to be immortal."  
  
Alejandro smiled a bit grimly. "I admit I was as guilty of thinking that as anyone, but he seems very tired lately."   
  
Diego shrugged again, not wanting too encourage too much discussion of Zorro with his father. Alejandro was a formidably intelligent man, and he probably wasn't going to stay blind forever. The less Diego let his feelings on Zorro get out, the better.   
  
"There is mail from Spain," Diego announced, attempting to draw his father's attention from dangerous topics.  
  
Alejandro's withering look told him he recognized the ploy and considered Diego even worse a coward for it. But he took up the mail and read the first letter, a smile briefly softening his face. But then the face darkened again.  
  
"Don Carlos has written me about his son's marriage," he said, the bitterness clear in his voice. "It seems young Pardise has made quite a name for himself at the University. He even has captured the attention of the King. He helped quell a peasant revolt and has been inducted into the Royal Order of St. Domaso. All this fame has won him the hand of the reputedly lovely daughter of Don Alonzo Vasquez himself."  
  
Diego blinked forcing the memory from his head. The conversation had deteriorated from there into the usual fight about Diego's unmarried state and his continued reluctance to do anything that might make him an attractive suitor. So bitter had the discussion become that Diego had been mildly shocked   
  
when his father had entrusted him with the care of the ranch when he left for Mexico the next day. He thought perhaps it had been his father's way of apologizing. He knew the lack of understanding wounded his father as much as it did him, probably more so because Alejandro truly believed his son to be the   
retiring poet he made himself out to be.  
  
Diego sighed and tried to burrow further into the softness of the bed. Felipe was right. He did need to sleep. These thoughts did him little good. He'd been trying to solve this dilemma for years now, ever since he'd donned Zorro's persona and its accompanying masks. There were times when the ache to tell his father, to show him that his son was capable of things to be proud of, was so intense it was an actual physical pain. In a way it was even harder than keeping Victoria in the dark. He knew his father, at least, would be pleased at the secret after he got over the shock, whereas Victoria . . . well, best not to delve into that just then.  
  
Part of him wondered just when he was going to deal with it though. These thoughts had been possessing him with increasing frequency as the years went by with no end of the alcalde's domination in sight. Could he ask Victoria to wait forever when he did not even think she would be happy with the man beneath the mask when it was removed? Was it fair to make his father go without grandchildren? The answers to these questions eluded him, and only action drove them away. That, as much as the alcalde's treachery, drove him into the night as Zorro so much of late. Ordinarily the energy the role of the masked bandit took was enough to send him into blessedly dreamless sleep, but tonight that was not so.  
  
Sighing, he rolled onto his back and allowed the demons he'd been holding at bay to run free through his mind. Perhaps given free reign they might give him some respite. He stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours. Sleep claimed him some hours before dawn, but it was a sleep filled with the angry recriminations of his father and Victoria's condescending laughter. 


	2. Chapter Two

I apologize for the delay in posting this. My notebook PC   
broke and I had to send it away to be repaired, which took   
considerable time.  
  
Chapter Two:  
  
Felipe gnashed his teeth and attempted to ignore the faint   
sunlight filtering into his window. The sun meant it was   
time to get up, beyond time to get up, and Felipe wasn't   
nearly ready to. It had been a sleepless night. Again.   
Zorro had been out so late and then he'd returned with that   
bullet wound in his arm. Felipe's chest lurched at the   
thought of what might have happened if the lancer had just   
aimed a little better. Zorro could be seriously hurt-or   
dead-and no one would know just what that meant except for   
him.  
  
There were times when he felt terribly alone with this   
secret. Mostly when he watched Zorro ride out night after   
night facing odds no one should survive. Or when he saw   
Diego try to hide his stiffness after a long night or when   
Zorro and Toronado stumbled into the cave as they had last   
night, so tired they could barely stand.   
  
The sun wasn't going anywhere any time soon, so Felipe   
finally forced himself out of bed and went to see if Diego   
had woken yet. Ordinarily, despite Don Alejandro's   
perceptions, Diego was an early riser. But last night had   
been very difficult and based on the look Diego had worn   
when he'd gone to bed, Felipe wasn't sure how good his rest   
had been.  
  
He padded silently to Diego's room to rouse his patron if   
necessary. What he found there made him wish he hadn't   
gotten out of bed. Diego lay in bed, his covers twisted   
and tangled about him. His sleep had obviously been   
restless and continued to be so. Felipe reluctantly raised   
a hand and shook his friend's shoulder gently. Diego's   
eyelids instantly snapped open, revealing blood shot eyes   
beneath them. He blinked rapidly and then smiled at Felipe   
in recognition.  
  
"Good morning, my friend," he said, in what Felipe thought   
of as his `Diego voice'. "Have I overslept? This   
uncivilized hour of the morning has me so out of sorts."  
  
Felipe found a grin stretching his face despite himself and   
he pulled Diego out of bed. Diego faked dismay at Felipe's   
impetuosity and the grin became wider. He helped his   
patron wash up for the day and the grin fell from his face   
when the bandage on his friend's arm brought reality back   
into focus. Diego's bland smile became warmer as he   
allowed his real feelings to be exposed for once and he   
ruffled Felipe's hair fondly.   
  
"As I told you, it is nothing to be alarmed over. We must   
hurry in any event. The rancheros will be unhappy if we   
keep them waiting any longer."  
  
Felipe nodded dutifully and finished helping Diego into his   
riding clothes. He followed without complaint as they went   
to the stable and joined the vaqueros for their morning   
tour of the ranch. Ordinarily this was something even Don   
Alejandro left to his competent ranch hands, but with the   
sudden increase in cattle raids over the last two weeks,   
Diego felt it might help if he were to join in at least   
part of the ride though he didn't have the time to spend   
the whole day on the ranges.   
  
"Good morning, Don Diego," Juan said in greeting. "I am   
still surprised to see you awake at this time of the   
morning."  
  
Diego grinned easily in return. Juan was one of the oldest   
and most loyal of their servants and Felipe was no longer   
surprised by the familiarity between him and his patron.   
  
"Truly," Diego said with exaggerated suffering, "it is a   
punishment so vile I am wondering that the alcalde himself   
did not think of it."  
  
Juan barked in laughter.  
  
Felipe watched in silent satisfaction as Diego pulled his   
horse next to Juan's and the two talked back and forth.   
The vaqueros and other horsemen on the ranch had trained   
the younger Diego in his riding skills and he did not even   
try to feign incompetence with them as he did with his   
father. It was very satisfying to see Diego allowing   
himself to be himself for a while. The two made an odd   
picture, Diego elegant even in his outdoor clothes, and   
Juan looking as if he had not seen even a bath in at least   
a week, but they fit together in a strange seamless way.   
  
"Have you seen any sign of the bandits yet this morning?"   
Diego was asking, his face plainly concerned.  
  
Juan shook his head. "No, Don Diego, I have not. But with   
those cows stolen over at the De Carraco ranch last week   
and the others stolen a few days ago at their neighbor's, I   
have been keeping an extra eye out for any signs of   
strangers in the area. The animals don't seem to be   
disturbed, as they would be if anyone they didn't know had   
been pestering them."  
  
Diego nodded, and Felipe could see him pondering that in   
his head for a while.  
  
"There doesn't seem to be anything we can do other than   
what we are at present. The ranch is just too large to   
keep under constant watch," he said finally.  
  
Juan nodded, satisfied. "Yes. A lot of the other   
caballeros are trying to send scouts over their entire   
ranch and they are merely tiring their men. It is better   
to search different areas every day. Bandits are men of   
habit in my experience."  
  
"I will have to take your word on that," Diego said, his   
teeth flashing in a grin.  
  
Juan winked. "I suppose you would."  
  
The two men's expression became serious again as they began   
to discuss the recent raids. Felipe noticed the odd looks   
he was getting from the other men and decided he perhaps   
had better take less obvious interest in a conversation he   
wasn't supposed to be able to hear. He spent far too much   
of his time thinking about bandits anyway. Much better to   
think of that girl he'd seen in the pueblo the other day.  
  
Thoughts of Olivia filled his head far more pleasantly than   
the view of the scrubby hills surrounding the de la Vega   
hacienda did. He supposed he was being irresponsible, but   
he'd had enough of responsibility of late. Sometimes he   
felt like being as lazy as Diego pretended to be.  
  
It did not seem to matter, as the morning passed without   
even Diego finding any sign of trespassers. Juan bid the   
both of them jubilant good afternoon and they finally went   
back to the hacienda for some lunch. Felipe, who had been   
starving for hours, dug into his food with relish.   
Ordinarily beans were not his favorite, but today they   
tasted almost as good as those exotic chocolates Diego   
produced now and again.  
  
He finished his first serving and started on his second   
before he noticed that Diego wasn't eating so much as   
pushing his fork around the plate. His friend was staring   
off into nowhere, a familiar troubled expression on his   
face. He frowned in continuing exasperation. Diego was   
already looking more than a little drawn these days and he   
didn't need to add weight loss to the problem. He sighed   
in exaggerated frustration, wondering how someone as   
intelligent as his friend could be such an idiot sometimes.  
  
Felipe rattled his fork against his own plate with enough   
force to draw Diego's attention and gestured impatiently at   
the untouched lunch.  
  
Diego smiled affectionately and ate a few bites. "You are   
right. I should eat something or the servants will wonder   
if I am sick. I just had much to think on, I suppose."  
  
Felipe gestured for him to continue, knowing that allowing   
Diego to brood only made things worse. Sometimes keeping   
secrets became too much of a habit to break, even between   
them.  
  
Diego smiled again and continued after swallowing a few   
more bites. "It is nothing in specific. Mostly this new   
group of bandits. They have grown so uncommonly bold and   
the alcalde seems to care little about their presence.   
Ordinarily he can at least be counted on to send some   
scouting parties."  
  
Felipe frowned. He'd been having some of the same   
thoughts.   
  
"And then I do have to wonder if I am doing the proper   
thing here. Juan and the other vaqueros seem to think so,   
but I cannot help but question what father would do."   
Diego looked around and lowered his voice. "Zorro has been   
keeping an eye on the town, but has been unable to look   
after things here at night time. Perhaps I should patrol   
both this evening."  
  
*You shouldn't do either. You need to get some sleep,*   
Felipe signed. *Zorro won't do anyone any good if he falls   
off of his horse.*  
  
Diego chuckled, his face a bit wry. "That would certainly   
be a sight the alcalde would appreciate. Perhaps I should   
offer it to him at his birthday celebration in a few   
weeks."  
  
Felipe rolled his eyes but then his expression stilled   
again. *Something else is bothering you.*  
  
Diego nodded but his look told Felipe that this discussion   
wasn't going much further. "There are just too many of   
them around. Highwaymen are a problem all up and down   
California, but suddenly Los Angeles seems to be the center   
of trouble. It is something to think on, that is all."  
  
Felipe knew it was something rather more than `something to   
think on' no matter what Diego might say. The caballero   
was clearly troubled by many things and Felipe wished he'd   
share some of it, no matter how little good that might do.   
As much as the secrets drove himself crazy, he could not   
imagine what they must do to the man in front of him.   
  
Felipe watched while Diego somewhat woodenly ate the rest   
of his lunch. After a while he couldn't really stand to   
watch and signed that he was going to look after Toronado.  
  
The stallion was much recovered from the previous night's   
adventure. At least one of us is getting some sleep,   
Felipe thought, giving the horse some fresh hay and some   
oats. Toronado whickered in appreciation and he stroked   
the coarse mane for a little while. Feeling a bit more at   
peace from his silent communication with the horse, Felipe   
curled up in the extra straw with the book Diego had given   
him. Within a few minutes his eyes closed and sleep   
claimed him, filling his head with much entrancing visions   
of his Olivia. 


	3. Chapter Three

"And then, just as the sun was setting, we tracked the band   
into the gully behind the old mill," Rafael said. His   
audience gasped appreciatively. Most of them, anyway.  
  
Don Alejandro sighed and tried not to show too much   
exasperation as he listened to Fernando's son recount his   
latest encounter with the local insurgents. That the boy   
showed courage there could be no doubt, nor that he'd   
earned his high position in the local militia despite his   
relative youth.   
  
Certainly the boy had a lot of promise and Fernando had   
every right to be proud. Rafael's recent capture of a   
local band of thieves was just the sort of story fathers   
liked to brag about.  
  
Why then was he so unimpressed? Perhaps it was just that   
after seven years of Zorro, tales like Rafael's seemed   
common place. After all, how impressive was it to round up   
four thieves with a band of armed men at your back compared   
with single-handedly facing down the alcalde and his   
soldiers armed with no more than a sword and your wits?   
  
But Alejandro had the uncomfortable thought that it was   
more than that. Rafael spoke of nothing but military   
matters. When he wasn't talking about bandits, it was   
training exercises or the new uniforms or supplies.   
Alejandro had never thought he'd be bored at tales of   
action, and here he was, barely able to keep from   
fidgeting.  
  
How Diego, who had never been known to even mention new   
uniforms in his life, would laugh to see his father thus.  
  
Alejandro may have left Los Angeles as much to escape the   
increasingly painful bitterness that enveloped much of his   
relations with his son of late as desire to see his friend,   
but at that moment, he would have given much for Diego's   
calming presence. Diego, at least, had the often   
overlooked talent for steering a conversation to topics   
that most engaged his companions-and he could keep up his   
end of it for hours whether his audience preferred   
discussing the paintings of Da Vinci or the Roman Senate.   
Now, listening to Rafael speak, Alejandro was forced to   
wonder if Diego ever found his father so boorish. It was a   
sobering thought, if not without its own biting irony.  
  
"Patience, Don Alejandro," a light baritone said lowly near   
his ear.  
  
Alejandro startled and looked up to see that Don Rodrigo   
Hinojosa standing just beside him. Alejandro recovered   
himself and bowed slightly as a man of Hinojosa's station   
required. An enigmatic man, Hinojosa. A former magistrate   
of Mexico City, who had, if rumors could be believed, left   
the position at the height of his influence because he felt   
government must change hands regularly if it is to remain   
committed to the people it governs. A startling, even   
vaguely heretical sentiment if true, though after his   
experiences in Los Angeles not one with which Alejandro   
could argue.  
  
Hinojosa smiled slightly, the expression holding a more   
accessible charm than one would expect in a face of such   
dignity. "Young Rafael's bravado may not make for the most   
fascinating subject, but he has earned his moment in the   
sun. And Don Fernando is justifiably proud." He turned   
back to Alejandro. The smile deepened, but the searching   
look only intensified. "We cannot all of us be so   
fortunate in our sons as you, Don Alejandro."  
  
"You know Diego?" Alejandro startled again, too surprised   
to wonder too deeply if the man was being ironic. "And how   
did you know that I was . . . "  
  
"That you were thinking of him?" Hinojosa chuckled quietly   
so as not to draw the rest of the room's attention.   
"Fathers are always supposed to be thinking of their sons,   
are we not?"  
  
"How is it that you know my Diego?" Alejandro asked again,   
attempting to recover his equilibrium.  
  
Now it was Hinojosa's turn to look surprised. "I have   
known Diego for many years. I met him on a trip to Spain   
when he was studying with Sir Edward. We have been   
exchanging letters ever since."  
  
"Letters?" Alejandro asked faintly. He could not imagine   
what his easily distracted if admittedly intelligent son   
could have to say to a man of Hinojosa's position and   
personality.  
  
Hinojosa didn't notice Alejandro's surprise, or at least   
was politic enough to pretend as much. "Yes, we are   
frequent correspondents, though not as frequent as I would   
like. He has one of the most refreshingly brilliant minds   
I have ever encountered, if you will forgive such   
enthusiasm." Hinojosa's face lit with what seemed sincere   
passion as he spoke. "He gave me some well taken   
suggestions when I still served as magistrate."  
  
Suggestions to a magistrate? From _Diego_? Alejandro was   
beginning to wonder if they were discussing the same man.  
  
Hinojosa paused and bowed slightly, disorienting Alejandro   
even further.  
  
"You will have to forgive a slight deception on my part,"   
Hinojosa said. "When I heard you would be visiting Don   
Fernando, I purposefully had myself invited to the dinner   
party this evening so that I might meet the man of whom   
Diego speaks so highly in all of his letters."  
  
"I thank you, sir." Alejandro flushed, absurdly pleased to   
hear his son speak of him so, even if was second-hand   
praise.   
  
Hinojosa nodded his reception of Alejandro's thanks. "I   
must admit some curiosity about you, sir. Your military   
reputation precedes you, and yet Diego has such a firm   
preference for peaceful solutions."  
  
"Yes," Alejandro said. He felt a growing resentment at   
finding himself at a disadvantage in discussing his own son   
with a near stranger and that loosened his hold on his   
bitterness more than he would have liked. "Action is not   
Diego's strong suit."  
  
"Ah," Hinojosa said, his expression suddenly holding a   
regretful understanding. His stance became slightly,   
though significantly, more politely erect. Alejandro had   
the feeling he had been judged and found wanting. The sour   
resentment at the back of his throat intensified.  
  
"I have a letter for Diego if you would not mind delivering   
it," Hinojosa said, reaching into his jacket. "You might   
tell him that I found his analysis of the Governor of   
California's new tax policies to be . . . startling. I am   
not entirely certain I agree with his conclusions, but he   
has proven me wrong before. It is not often that I meet   
someone who has the courage to think on such a broad scale.   
It is reassuring to see that we have not all of us raised   
sons who think of nothing but personal glory."  
  
Alejandro took the letter as Hinojosa bowed again, deeply   
this time. Alejandro had the feeling that he had been   
given a rare honor, and was gracious enough to force his   
resentment aside enough to be humbled by it. Hinojosa had   
an unparalleled reputation as a governor. There would have   
been no need for Zorro if someone of his like was installed   
in De Soto's place. He bowed in return and Hinojosa nodded   
approvingly.  
  
"If you would allow me to say so, it is easy to see where   
Diego learned his sense of honor," Hinojosa said.   
  
Alejandro nodded and Hinojosa faded into the crowd. After   
the man departed, Alejandro looked for a long time at the   
letter in his hand, suddenly thoughtful. 


	4. Chapter Four

Diego woke in the chilly hours of predawn and huddled   
deeper into the comforting warmth of his blankets.   
Exhaustion turned all of his muscles into painful leaden   
weights and it felt decadently good to just lie there not   
moving. The fatigue was getting to the point where he was   
almost too tired to sleep and it was finally beginning to   
concern him. Felipe, his poor friend, had been out of his   
head over it for weeks and resultantly had gotten little   
more rest himself but there was no help for it.  
  
The problems with lawlessness had not grown any better in   
the pueblo no matter how many men Zorro might round up.   
During the day Don Diego was needed in increasing frequency   
to handle the problems on the hacienda, though, thanks to   
the general competence of the de la Vega vaqueros, that was   
not as much of a problem as it was at the other ranches.   
But the other caballeros, used, perhaps, to coming to   
Alejandro in times of need, still turned to the de la Vega   
hacienda, if not for advice, at least as a friendly place   
where they might commiserate over their troubles. So Diego   
moved his rides with the ranchers back even earlier as he   
was not ready to give those up. And when the dons came to   
tell their tales of increasing woe and to beg information   
on when Alejandro might return, Diego listened patiently   
and offered what advice he could as discretely as possible.   
Mostly he sent Juan around to the other haciendas with   
advice for the hands there. People would probably pay less   
attention to Juan helping out a few friends than Diego de   
la Vega actually showing interest in anything. He thought   
perhaps people came to complain to him more because they   
expected him to be pleasant and calm about it more than   
they wanted action, and that he could do.  
  
The troubles were truly beginning to alarm him. During the   
first three weeks of Don Alejandro's absence, the robberies   
had mostly concentrated on cattle raiding and the   
occasional disruption of a coach into town. But now the   
bandits were interfering more with the common farmers and   
that, to Diego anyway, was far more troubling.  
  
So, every evening, after Diego had taken another tour of   
the ranch and settled accounts for the day, Zorro rode out   
over the countryside in search of trouble. He invariably   
found it, and it grew bolder by the day. He had the wounds   
to prove it, though he no longer allowed Felipe to see   
them. Felipe already thought he was getting too reckless,   
which was undoubtedly true, but with all that was going on   
and his own fatigue, he found he couldn't help it.  
  
De Soto seemed troublesomely quiet, as well, and Diego   
couldn't help but feel as if this new found patience didn't   
implicate the normally impetuous leader in all this   
somehow. But what would De Soto profit from having robbers   
invading his pueblo? He wasn't quite as much of a thief as   
Ramon, so it wasn't for a share in their profits. No, De   
Soto, for all his directness, could be even more   
Machiavellian than his predecessor when he chose to be. It   
was easy to forget how formidable the man truly could be at   
times.   
  
Groaning slightly, Diego forced himself to accept the fact   
that the sun was indeed nearly about to rise and he really   
ought to be abandoning his warm cocoon no matter how   
tempting it might be to lie there for the next week or so.   
He decided to leave Felipe asleep although he'd probably be   
angry when he woke up. His unfailing loyalty was dear to   
Diego, but they didn't both need to be out on the cold   
trails that morning and that loyalty had already cost the   
boy enough sleep as it was.  
  
And besides, Felipe was sure to notice that Diego was   
moving very stiffly from bruised ribs. It was a discussion   
he felt he could do without that morning.  
  
After a barely tasted breakfast, he joined the men as usual   
in the stable yard.  
  
"You know, Don Diego," Juan said, handing him the reigns to   
his horse, "you don't really have to do this. We   
appreciate the help and you've proved to know a surprising   
bit of tracking, but we men could handle it. We all know   
you've been really busy with the other dons coming round."  
  
Diego grimaced, only partly faking it. "I should rather   
ride the ranch its entire length twice over than listen to   
one more man complain about some lost cow or other."   
  
Juan chuckled. "I always thought you more the social type,   
Don Diego."  
  
"I would not precisely call men calling on you to complain   
of profit losses a social event," Diego said with   
exaggerated boredom. "All the figures make my head ache."  
  
Juan's look told him he wasn't fooling anybody. Diego had   
wondered more than once if he wasn't letting too much slip   
these last few weeks, but Alejandro wasn't really in the   
habit of discussing his son with his ranch hands, so he   
supposed it wasn't too much of a danger. Being a bit more   
of his true self had become entirely too seductive to   
resist in his hassle in any event.  
  
They mounted up as always and headed for the eastern trail   
that day. Diego noticed they were accompanied by a younger   
boy and looked curiously at Juan. Juan shrugged and called   
Miguel over.  
  
"Miguel," he said, "What's Tomas doing here? This isn't   
really a job for a young boy like that."  
  
Miguel shrugged in apology. "He's been bothering me and   
his mother a lot lately about riding out like Felipe. I   
didn't think it would do any harm to bring him along. It's   
not like any of these raiders have been spotted during the   
day. We've brought him along before."  
  
Juan nodded. "I suppose if it is all right with Don Diego,   
I have no problems with it."  
  
Diego could see any number of problems with it, but Miguel   
was a good man and he remembered he'd stayed with them,   
despite the offer of better pay over at the San Saba ranch.   
  
"I am sure Tomas will prove to be a pleasant addition to   
our company," he said finally.  
  
Juan guffawed and spat onto the side of the trail. "I   
always told Don Alejandro that you'd grow up to be a   
diplomat."  
  
Diego smiled and shook his head.  
  
He kept a close eye on Tomas, but there didn't seem to be   
any troubles as they rode through the winding trails over   
the property. The banditos had stayed mostly to the north   
of the city, away from the de la Vega ranch in general,   
though they had definitely noticed some missing cows and   
some tracks of trespassers.  
  
He allowed himself to relax a little and diverted his   
attention to looking for clues, which was why he'd dragged   
himself out of bed to begin with. His tired mind started   
to drift off again, and he brought it sharply back to mind   
just as he heard the sound of hooves racing over the rocky   
ground ahead.  
  
Jerking his head up, he saw a group of five men galloping   
toward them. They obviously hidden behind the rise just   
ahead and were counting on surprise to win the encounter.   
One of them raised a musket and pointed it to a spot to   
Diego's right. It went off and Diego heard a shout of pain   
as one of his men was hit.   
  
"We need to scatter," Diego said, taking charge without   
thinking. "We provide too good of targets like this."  
  
The men, gathering their wits about them, drove their   
horses off the trail, and reached for their own guns.   
Diego began to follow suit when he noticed the frozen,   
terrified figure of Tomas. The  
boy was frightened into immobility and he made the perfect   
target sitting their on the trail. Diego turned to see   
another robber raise his gun and desperately pushed his   
horse back toward the boy, wishing fervently that it was   
Toronado he was riding instead. Lunging in his saddle he   
was able to grab the reigns of the boy's horse and jerk it   
out of the way just as the gun went off. He felt a searing   
pain across the side of his head and the horse reared in   
terror.  
  
"Tomas, run," Diego shouted, trying desperately to control   
his horse, though it was terribly difficult to think with   
the fire in his head.  
  
The horse reared again and Diego twisted it sharply so that   
the flailing hooves wouldn't hit the boy. Unfortunately,   
although the move successfully prevented Tomas from being   
clipped in the head, it disturbed Diego's seat enough so   
that the next time his out of control horse rocked up, he   
was thrown violently from the saddle.   
  
He hit the ground hard, snapping his head harshly against   
the rocks. His horse, freed from constraint, bolted down   
the trail as he struggled with consciousness. The   
blackness won for a moment, and when he came to, he found   
Juan's concerned face looking down on him.  
  
"Tomas!" he said, looking around for the boy as best he   
could.   
  
Juan pushed him more firmly against the ground. "The boy   
is all right, just shaken up a bit. He's with his father."  
  
"What about our other men?" Diego said, pushing aside   
Juan's hands so he could sit up. His head hurt   
ferociously, but he couldn't allow Juan to see that. He   
couldn't afford to stop functioning just then and it would   
be too entirely out of character for Diego not to take to   
his bed if it came out that he was seriously injured.  
  
"You shouldn't be doing that," Juan said. "That bullet   
wound is pretty shallow, but it's bleeding pretty fast."  
  
Diego took a snowy handkerchief from his pocket and pressed   
it daintily against the wound.  
  
Juan snorted at the gesture and rocked back on his heels,   
apparently satisfied that a wound that could be treated   
with a scrap of lace couldn't be too serious.  
  
"Most of our men have gone after those banditos. None of   
them are seriously hurt. Rodrigo took a slight wound in   
the arm, but other than that, you are our only casualty."   
He looked reflexive for a moment and then a bit fearful.   
"At least until Don Alejandro discovers I got his son   
shot."  
  
Diego grinned at him and Juan grimaced in return.  
  
Miguel came over hesitantly, his son cradled against him.   
"Don Diego, I owe you the life of my son. I cannot—I do   
not know what I can say."  
  
Diego could not regret the actions that had saved the life   
of a ten-year-old boy, but it was obvious he'd have to come   
up with some explanation for actions so severely out of   
character. "Think nothing of it, Miguel. In the heat of   
the moment, I merely did what anyone might have."  
  
"You saved my son," Miguel said again. "I owe you, no   
matter what you might say."  
  
"Ah, well then," Diego said, "perhaps you might consider   
loaning me your horse. Mine seems to have found the   
excitement a bit much for his taste. A sign of good   
breeding, no doubt."  
  
Miguel smiled palely and nodded. "I'll just ride back with   
Tomas."  
  
Juan offered Diego a hand up and hovered in concern as he   
swayed a bit.  
  
"Are you sure you are all right?"  
  
Diego nearly told him that this was hardly the first time   
he'd been shot, but caught himself just in time.  
  
"Perhaps we should return to the ranch," he said. "I think   
Tomas would appreciate a more familiar setting and as for   
myself, I find all this blood on my new coat very   
distressing. I only hope Maria can get it out."  
  
Juan shook his head. "You get shot in the head and you   
worry about your coat. I never did claim to understand you   
caballeros, Don Diego."  
  
"It was a very fine coat," Diego insisted.  
  
Juan insisted on helping him onto his horse and   
accompanying him back to the hacienda despite his many   
protests. Probably a good idea, though Diego found it   
increasingly difficult to hide the pain in his head as the   
horses jolted over the miles to the hacienda.  
  
By the time they reached the stable yard again, it was late   
morning. They found Felipe there, already saddling a   
horse. The young man looked relieved until he saw the   
blood on Diego's face and collar and then his own face went   
a bloodless white.  
  
Diego allowed both Juan and Felipe to fuss over him as he   
climbed off the horse. Felipe, as may have been expected,   
shooed away the vaquero as soon as they entered the main   
house. Maria and Buena came running, but he sent them away   
too after demanding some water and bandages.  
  
Diego was broadly grinning at Felipe's imperiousness by the   
time the young man had shoved him into his room. The boy   
glared at him, but he just grinned wider.  
  
*What happened?* Felipe signed furiously.  
  
Diego shrugged elegantly. "We came across some men. They   
caused a bit of trouble and threatened Miguel's son. I   
felt obliged to get in the way."  
  
Felipe didn't seem too pleased by this answer. *Did anyone   
else get hurt?*  
  
"A man took a bullet in the arm. I am told it is little to   
be concerned with, though I will have to check on him   
later."  
  
Felipe was gentle as he removed Diego's bloodied jacket and   
shirt though his face held a curious mixture of anger and   
worry. He sighed a bit when he saw the new bruises on   
Diego's side, but didn't ask about them.  
  
Felipe cleaned away the blood in silence. *It is not too   
bad* he signed, clearly relieved. His fingers probed   
Diego's skull for a moment. He was far too used to looking   
for injuries not to notice the large lump forming on the   
back of his skull.  
  
"My horse became excited. I am afraid retaining my seat   
while keeping the animal from hitting Tomas became   
impossible."  
  
Felipe nodded and again strangely had nothing to say on the   
subject. Lately the slightest scratch had drawn no end of   
censure from the boy.   
  
*Why didn't you wake me this morning?* Felipe finally   
signed before cleaning the wound with some alcohol.   
  
Diego winced again at this new pain in his head. "You were   
clearly in need of rest and I didn't think we would require   
your help this morning. I imagine those bandits chose   
today to attack simply to prove me wrong."  
  
Some of the grimness left Felipe's face as he smiled   
slightly. He still looked a bit hurt, though.  
  
Once the wound was cleaned, Diego attempted to rise from   
his bed, but Felipe shoved him none too gently back into   
it.  
  
*You should rest.*  
  
Diego began to shake his head, but Felipe wouldn't give in.  
  
*It will look very strange if you do not.*  
  
That was an argument he had to listen to as much as losing   
a full day's work irritated him.   
  
When Felipe saw he wasn't going to argue any further, he   
grinned smugly. *Even you can stay out of trouble here.*  
  
"There will undoubtedly be people coming to see me today,"   
Diego tried.  
  
*I will tell them that you are ill.*  
  
Diego mulled that over and finally decided that Felipe was   
right. He was being foolish. He needed to rest and   
another tale of woe would make him wish the bandits had   
killed him after all. That resolved he allowed himself to   
relax fully into his bed and Felipe obligingly pulled up   
the covers.   
  
"I would rather this didn't get out," Diego said, closing   
his eyes. It helped to keep the room from spinning. "Juan   
and the other men probably won't think much on it, but I   
think the alcalde might make much of it if he heard."  
  
Felipe gripped his arm, showing his assent. Diego felt   
warm fingers brush his hair from his face and then the bed   
shifted as Felipe stood up and gathered the things from   
patching his wound. Felipe's fingers closed briefly around   
his arm again and then Diego heard the sound of the door   
closing as he left.  
  
He supposed he should feel guilty lying here. He should at   
least change into something less grimy than his riding   
pants, but he seriously thought that Felipe might consider   
homicide if he got out of bed.   
  
Besides, his head felt almost normal as he fell deeply into   
the soft pillows. The soft caress of the blanket chilled   
his heated skin and he had the lovely sensation of almost   
floating. He really should look into what had happened   
with his men, and the books needed looking after and he   
still hadn't entirely thought through De Soto's possible   
involvement in all the goings on of late, but somehow, as   
much needed sleep robbed him of the energy to ponder these   
things too deeply, none of it seemed to matter very much.  
  
One deep breath became two and then a third as sleep stole   
over him and he knew no more. 


	5. Chapter Five

Diego woke up feeling much refreshed though the pounding in the back of his skull told him he'd hit his head harder than he'd thought. His side was considerably less stiff however and his eyes no longer felt as if they were covered in dust. Tentatively, he sat up and was mostly happy with the results as the room only slowly spun. The weak light filtering in the shutter told him it was at least late afternoon, perhaps dusk.   
  
Frowning at his dusty pants and the not inconsiderable dirt they had left in his bed, he changed quickly into more suitable attire and went to find Felipe. The boy would, undoubtedly, have more information about what was going on than anyone else.  
  
Felipe was found in the kitchen. He looked Diego over imperiously and then, apparently satisfied with what he saw, gestured for Diego to sit.  
  
Fighting to keep his expression serious, Diego took the proffered bench and leaned toward his young companion.  
  
"Any news?"  
  
Felipe nodded. *Juan says that they rounded up the men you saw this morning and took them to the pueblo. Rodrigo should be fine."  
  
Diego relaxed a bit. That had taken care of his most pressing concerns. "Did anyone call?"  
  
Felipe nodded. *Don Olentzaro and Don Hector.*  
  
Diego grinned crookedly. "I suppose they took the news of my 'illness' with all due grace?"  
  
Felipe nodded solemnly, but then smiled.   
  
Diego clapped him on the back. "I owe you many thanks. Don Hector is a dear and brave man, but the man can out do even myself for inanity."  
  
Felipe winked.   
  
Diego moved into the parlor and called for Maria to serve them a late supper. Felipe, who undoubtedly had already eaten, joined in with no lack of enthusiasm. Sometimes Diego wondered if his young charge was not part wolf.   
  
"What is everyone saying about what happened today?" Diego asked, keeping his voice low.  
  
*They are a little upset, but not too much. They are a bit concerned for you.* Felipe signed with a shrug.  
  
"Hmm. Is anyone saying anything about my involvement?"  
  
Felipe shook his head. *They are too worried, I think. Maria has told everyone that you came home covered in blood and have taken to your bed.*  
  
Diego groaned. "She will have me banished there for a week at least if she gets her way. I cannot have father hearing about this when he returns. He will ask more questions than Maria."  
  
*I don't know if we can do that. Everyone is talking a lot.*  
  
"I'll just have to think of a way to get it out of their minds. Father is usually more concerned with the business end of things. So long as Zorro has these bandits more under control before father returns, he shouldn't need to hear of what happened today."  
  
*Miguel and his wife stopped by. They wanted to thank you again, but left when they discovered that you were asleep.*  
  
Diego nodded and then frowned. "I knew Tomas should not have accompanied us. I do not know what possessed me to allow him to come."  
  
Felipe looked at him strangely. *Tomas rides with his father all the time. It is how he learns to handle the cattle.*  
  
Diego nodded, knowing the point wasn't worth fighting over.  
  
"Any news from the pueblo?"  
  
Felipe shrugged. *Nothing new. They are worried still. They are glad Zorro is here but wish the alcalde would do something.*  
  
Diego considered his physical state for a moment, but was eventually forced to give in to his common sense. "Zorro won't be riding tonight."  
  
Felipe looked surprised but pleased.   
  
Diego knew that he probably ought to return to his bed, but he thought his mind probably needed diversion as much as his body needed rest.   
  
"Since father has gone the chess board has seen little use. Why don't the two of us have an evening of it?"   
  
Felipe smiled and nodded eagerly, much of the remaining tension in his face relaxing.   
  
Diego smiled as well, relieved to see that he'd found the right thing to do for Felipe, even if the situation with the bandits and the alcalde was far from mended.  
  
Felipe grabbed his hand and pulled Diego into the parlor where the chess board sat. The one advantage of his father's absence was that Diego could allow himself to win for once, even if Felipe might not enjoy that so much.  
  
But the expression of contentment on his friend's face was real, even if he did lose the three rounds they played that night. Diego forced himself to stop worrying about the world at large and enjoyed for one evening a moment of peace. 


	6. Chapter Six

Victoria rubbed at her temples, trying to convince herself she wasn't tired. It had been a very long month. Every few days brought increasing tales of the lawlessness that pervaded the pueblo. Early on everyone had thought that even De Soto would be moved to do something about so serious a problem, but as time went on, it became clear that the alcalde was determined to do even less than usual. Most nights the lancers were prevented from patrolling at all, not even to chase Zorro.   
  
Victoria frowned, thinking of her masked hero. Although the Fox had been appearing nearly every night in his solitary campaign to do curb the increasingly violent acts of the bands of highwaymen that had invaded their town, he was so busy in that pursuit that there had been little time for meaningful visits between them. They had stolen a few moments a few days before, but it had been obvious to her that Zorro was exhausted by his fight-and the situation was only growing worse by the day.   
  
A single man, no matter how brilliant, how courageous and talented, could not protect an entire town on his own. As the weeks now stretched into over a month, her worry for the man she'd pledged herself to was growing into a panic. The worry was wearying on her, and it was not just worry for Zorro. The bandits concentrated most of their efforts on cattle raids which hurt mostly the caballeros who could, to a certain extent, afford to suffer the loss. But many of the smaller farmers had been hurt as well, and the road had become so dangerous that many merchants would no longer travel it. She herself was even feeling the loss of a shipment of glasses that had been either waylaid on their way from Santa Paula. A loss she could handle, but it showed how much the crime affected everyone.   
  
She looked up and saw Felipe loitering morosely in the doorway. She brightened at the sight. It had been many days since Felipe had been to the tavern.   
  
"Felipe," she said after he'd looked over to her. "Why don't you come in? You look like you could use some lemonade on such a hot day."  
  
Felipe brightened and nodded quickly. She quickly brought him the lemonade, and knowing Felipe as well as she did, some quesadillas from the kitchen.  
  
"Has Diego come to town with you?" she asked, hopeful. It had been even longer since she had seen Diego than Felipe and she found, to her surprise, that she had missed him possibly even more than Zorro.  
  
Some of Felipe's enjoyment of his meal fell from his face and he nodded.   
  
*He has come to see Dr. Hernandez, * he signed. *One of our men was wounded. *  
  
Victoria was not nearly as skilled as Diego at interpreting Felipe's gestures, but she thought she'd understood. "Someone was wounded? Was it serious?" she asked, suddenly concerned.  
  
Felipe shook his head. *No. It was just an accident. Diego is just feeling responsible for everyone. *  
  
Victoria was certain she must have misinterpreted that one. Diego? Feeling responsible?  
  
Just then, the object of her curiosity entered the tavern.  
  
"Ah, here you are Felipe," Diego said. He turned and nodded at Victoria. "I am afraid, Senora, that I do not have the time to visit today, no matter how tempting the company."  
  
Victoria blushed a little, surprised. It was the kind of thing she'd expect Zorro to say, not Diego.   
  
Diego smiled regretfully at Felipe and ruffled his hair fondly. "Felipe should stay. He is in need of a day off, I am afraid."  
  
Felipe yanked Diego down into the chair beside him just as Victoria began protesting.  
  
"You haven't been to see me in weeks, Don Diego. I'd almost think you were avoiding me."  
  
He smiled apologetically and settled more firmly in his chair. "Never that, Victoria. A man could no more wish to avoid you than the warmth of the sunlight."  
  
His voice was tired, making it deeper and slightly rough. The change was surprisingly affecting, or at least she hoped that was why she found herself again blushing.   
  
To hide her distraction she bustled into the kitchen and grabbed some tamales for Diego and, after remembering Felipe's drawn look, some cinnamon puff pastries fresh from the oven.  
  
Diego was once again trying to withdraw when she made it back to the main tavern and she pushed him down with a shove.  
  
"After so long, the least you can do is entertain a lady on a long afternoon."  
  
Diego smiled and nodded. His eyes shone a bit at her teasing, but she was surprised at how truly exhausted he looked. She was so used to thinking of Diego in terms of the pampered life of a caballero's only son that seeing him thus was a bit of a shock.  
  
"I trust you are well?" Diego asked, his tone light, but his expression intensely serious. "The recent troubles have not too badly affected you here, in town?"  
  
She smiled as reassuringly as she could, a little troubled by the real worry she saw weighing on him. "I am fine, much better off than many, at least. And I do have Zorro to look after me."  
  
Curiously, the worry didn't leave Diego's face. "I have heard that Zorro has been very busy lately. Are you sure you are safe here alone?"  
  
From someone else, Victoria may have been offended by a suggestion that she could not look after herself. But the troubles in the town, particularly for a woman running a business on her own, were not so easily dismissed and the sincerity of his concern was transparent. She reached over and cupped his jaw. "I am well, Diego. You don't have to worry. The alcalde has at least kept the banditos out of the town itself."  
  
Some, though not nearly all, of the worry finally left his face and his smile became more genuine. Surprised and more than a little touched at his concern for her, she took a step closer to him and ran her fingers through his dark hair. The feeling was pleasantly distracting, disconcertingly so, as was the firm warmth of him so close to her. Her breath catching, she allowed her fingers to linger a little longer than she'd intended. Diego, too, became still and she found herself leaning closer to him when her fingers found the long line of a healing wound on the side of his head.  
  
"Diego?! What happened?" she said, withdrawing quickly.  
  
Diego startled and nearly fell over at the sudden loss of her presence. Something like panic fluttered behind his eyes, but then as always his true emotions were hidden behind their perpetual shutters.   
  
"Ah, you know me," he said, smiling sheepishly. "My long standing luck with horses continues."  
  
Victoria frowned and grabbed Diego's head firmly so that she could get a better look at that scar. It was too narrow and even to get from a fall, or even from a horse's hoof.  
  
"You didn't get that riding, Diego de la Vega. Do you want to tell me what going on?"  
  
*He was shot * Felipe signed impatiently.   
  
"Shot?" Victoria gasped.  
  
Diego gave Felipe a surprisingly angry glare, but he just glared back.   
  
*Someone needs to make you listen to sense * Felipe signed. Diego's lips compressed, but he didn't say anything. Victoria got the feeling that there was much she was missing here.   
  
Sighing in impatience, Victoria grabbed Diego's shoulder and whirled him to face her. "You were shot?" she asked again.  
  
"There may have been a small incident," Diego said. "It was so minor it barely warrants mention."  
  
Victoria gave up and turned to Felipe. The boy looked like he regretted his outburst a bit, but was stubbornly refusing to remain as secretive as Diego would clearly prefer.  
  
*There were some bandits on the ranch a few weeks back. They would have shot Miguel's son but Diego got in the way. *  
  
"Miguel's son? You mean Tomas?"  
  
Felipe nodded. Victoria blinked. She now remembered Miguel coming to the tavern a few weeks ago. She'd caught the tail end of the story of Tomas's rescue, but she hadn't realized just whom the boy's rescuer had been.   
  
"That was _you_?" she said, turning to Diego again.  
  
"It was entirely an accident, I assure you," Diego said, clearly embarrassed.   
  
On any other occasion Victoria may have laughed to see Diego de la Vega turn as red as her best skirt. As it was she had to smile despite the seriousness of the situation.  
  
"Sometimes you amaze me, my friend," she said, a chuckle escaping. "Who would have imagined you, a hero?"  
  
He smiled, but his tiredness was sufficient to allow her to see the real flash of pain at her words beneath the ever present mask of urbanity.  
  
"Diego, I didn't mean . . . " she tried to say, cursing her thoughtlessness.  
  
Diego stood and bowed politely, pressing his lips to her hand. "Do not allow it to concern you," he said, rising. "You are right, myself as a hero is a slightly ludicrous thought. I shall gladly leave the role to Zorro."  
  
He turned abruptly and began to walk away, but not before she registered the bitterness in his eyes that gave lie to his joking tone.  
  
"Diego," she tried again. He paused but then shook his head and went back out into the harsh sunlight of the plaza.   
  
Felipe's wounded look held all of the startled betrayal Diego's control would not allow him to reveal himself. He frowned at her angrily and then hurried after his mentor, leaving her there standing alone. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Author's Note: I am not entirely certain about this section. It seems, for lack of a better word, a bit schmaltzy to me. I just thought that, even though he is extremely mature, Felipe is still very young to be the only one to know Zorro's secret. I just wanted to explore what that might mean for him in a situation more serious than the alcalde's usual, easily solved escapades. That is what this scene is supposed to be, though I am not entirely certain it worked out.  
  
_____________________________  
  
Felipe could tell that Diego had no wish to talk as they left the pueblo. The recent increase in raids had forced them to bring men along for protection and that would force him to give Diego his quiet, but he had no intention of letting things go once they got home.   
  
And he needed the time, himself, to sort out just what he felt. He bounced between anger with Victoria, with Diego, with the alcalde, even with himself. By the time they'd reached the cool privacy of the hacienda, the mix had simmered to a general frustration, specific to everyone and no one.  
  
Maria and Buena brought fruit and a crisp white wine to wash down the dust of the road. Diego thanked them with his infallible courtesy and they were left, finally, alone.  
  
"The melon is quite good," Diego said, nothing in his voice beyond the light pleasure you'd expect from such a statement. "You should try it."  
  
Felipe spun, and had he been a year younger he might have thrown the cursed melon across the room. *Don't . . . just don't. You don't have to. Not with me. *  
  
He looked up into Diego's face for the first time and nearly flinched. Surprised regret took hold of the older man's expression, but beneath it was no subterfuge, no attempt to conceal whatever thoughts Diego might have over the scene with Victoria. There was only a pervading sort of resignation and a deeper and more enduring sense of fatigue than Diego generally allowed him to see.  
  
"I do know that, my friend, truly I do," Diego said. There was apology in his tone, that such words even had to be said.   
  
He looked as if he were going to say more, but Felipe waved him to silence and Diego, being Diego, gave him that.  
  
*I know * he signed finally. *I'm sorry. *  
  
Diego smiled but didn't speak. Knowing Felipe as well as he did, he would know that this wasn't all of it.  
  
*It's just not fair. * Felipe clutched at the baggy cloth of his pants if only to keep from tearing at his hair. He knew he already seemed a five year old child, acting this way, and didn't think the image needed any further help.  
  
Diego's smile twisted slightly, not with bitterness precisely, but with regret and a certain irony that hadn't been there when he returned from Spain.  
  
"Victoria is a uniquely honest woman, and she trusts that those she considers her friends will treat her the same," he said. He looked up at Felipe. "You are right of course, as always. It has never been fair that I abuse that trust and show her a lie, but even after so many years I am unable to think of how to right that wrong."  
  
Some of Felipe's frustration was robbed by a familiar tide of exasperation. How Diego could manage to be so very insightful but so incredibly _wrong_ at once?  
  
What he'd said was entirely true. It wasn't fair to Victoria. Victoria was fierce and loyal and brave and half the time Felipe imagined himself nearly as much in love with her as Diego. All the town knew she loved Zorro, but Felipe, always quiet, not always noticed, had seen some of the looks she'd given Diego. It _wasn't_ fair that she should be forced to choose between two men who were in fact just different faces of the same person.   
But that wasn't what Felipe had meant, and how Diego didn't know that was a mystery. Well, no, he was Diego, that's how. In other words, an idiot.  
  
*You know that's not what I meant * Felipe signed, spelling it out slowly so his apparently challenged friend could follow.  
  
Diego chuckled slightly and his eyes sparked with an appreciative humor that was entirely Zorro. "Yes, I did, I must admit. All evidence to the contrary, I am not entirely lacking intelligence. I felt, however, that it needed to be said."  
  
Felipe shook his head. There was much that needed to be said. That was the whole problem. Years and years of it and Diego could barely tolerate acknowledging its existence, let alone bringing it out into the open. He started to say as much but one look at Diego's tired face again halted him.  
  
He was telling himself that he was doing this for Diego, that forcing Diego into letting go of that perpetual, infuriating gentility and voicing the frustrations which must haunt him could only be a good thing. But that wasn't true and he knew it. What good would it do for Diego to admit Victoria had the power to hurt him? How would it help for him to acknowledge how much he would like to remove all the masks that separated him from his father and say 'Here, this is man who is your son'?  
  
It wouldn't help at all, no matter how tempting.  
  
Because he couldn't remove those masks, couldn't allow the two people who meant the most to him to see the truth, no matter how much it was costing him. Alejandro and Victoria both were too honorable to allow Diego to fight their battles for him. It was easier to allow Zorro, a beloved hero but one without a real face, to brave such dangers. And in their transparent, honest faces, the alcalde would read in an instant the truth they'd kept hidden for so many years.  
  
Diego stood up and gripped Felipe's shoulder. Felipe wasn't surprised. It would take someone far less perceptive than Diego to miss the turmoil that must be so clearly stamped upon him.   
  
Diego's fingers tightened for a moment and then relaxed slightly. "What is it? I know I have been distracted lately, but I _am_ listening now."  
  
Of course he was. He only had the ranch and the town and Victoria and the alcalde to worry about already. No problem listening to the whining of a self-involved child.  
  
*You have to stay here tonight * Felipe signed in a rash, knowing it was selfish, but feeling immensely tired of being the only one to say such things.   
  
Diego moved his hand from Felipe's shoulder to ruffle his hair slightly. "You know I cannot do that."  
  
*Yes, yes you can. You can't keep doing this. You're much too tired. * Felipe signed, dislodging the hand and shaking his head violently.  
  
Diego made no argument, probably because there was none to be made. Every day Felipe watched as the fatigue deepened, and yet still Zorro rode out nearly every night and every morning Diego rose to ride the ranch with Juan. The infestation of bandits showed no sign of lessening no matter how many of them Zorro rounded up and as the weeks went by, still the alcalde did nothing about it. And so Diego went on as he had, night after night, day after day.  
  
Diego raised a hand for silence, but once started, Felipe found he could not stop.  
  
*No one could fight this alone, not even you. These men won't stop. The alcalde won't stop. It's no use. * Diego reached out to him again, but Felipe pushed away his hand and turned away. Diego wouldn't listen to him no matter how right he was. No one could win this fight. There was no sense in keeping on; to go on as Diego did in the face of such an irredeemable situation was stupid and futile and dangerous and insane . . . and simply amazing.   
  
Felipe had always felt a fierce and joyful pride in being Diego's friend, in watching Zorro frustrate the schemes of thieves and alcaldes alike time and time again, but he didn't think he'd ever felt more pride than now in watching Diego wage this fight he must know he was slowly losing.  
  
He turned around as he heard Diego's step closer to him, but he still couldn't look up at the older man.  
  
*You're going to get yourself killed. * He realized that there were tears flowing down his cheeks and it dawned on him belatedly that this was what this argument had been about from the beginning. Zorro might be an immortal legend, but Diego, beneath that mask, was not. And not even Diego could carry on this fight forever. Felipe was all there was to help him, and he was just a boy, an orphan, powerless. Not even his handicaps had ever made him feel this inadequate.  
  
"Felipe," Diego said gently, taking another step closer.   
  
*No, no, * Felipe signed pushing his arms away again, sobbing now as a child would. *They're going to kill you, you know that. The alcalde hates you. He _hates_ you. Why should he do anything when the bandits are doing his work for him? And what will we do after they finally manage it, did you ever think of that? *  
  
Now Diego did brush his weakly protesting arms aside and draw him into a tight hold. Felipe gave in and wrapped his arms around Diego's chest almost in a death grip. Felipe knew that beneath the finery Diego wore the bruises Zorro's adventures left him, but he made no sound of protest even though the tightness of Felipe's grip must be paining him.   
  
Instead he just tightened his own hold and let Felipe let out his long denied frustration upon his shoulder. Felipe, who had not been a true child in a while, quickly suppressed his tears, but he couldn't quite bring himself to break this hold. It was rare, from someone of Diego's temperament, and Diego was so warm and solid and alive, standing there.  
  
"I am so very sorry," Diego said. "I will promise to be careful, though I know this is not nearly enough."  
  
It was all he had to give, and usually from Diego that was more than enough. This time it wasn't, but what could Felipe do? There were no words that could persuade Diego to leave those less able to protect themselves to their own devices, none that Felipe knew anyway.  
  
So he nodded and broke the hold, though Diego left his arm slung across his shoulder and surprised him by keeping it there as he drew them to sit on the couch. Diego had a strong sense of dignity, inherited from his even more reserved father, and such displays did not entirely come easily to him. But he left the arm there even so. 


	8. chapter Eight

Author's Note: This chapter, like the last, is a bit of an experiment. I decided Zorro wasn't having quite enough fun, which is rather an essential part of his character, so I threw this in the mix.  
  
______________________   
Diego bent lower over Toronado's neck, urging the horse to run faster. The horse's muscles bunched and they leapt over the narrow stream and up the bank. He nearly shouted with the joy of it.   
  
During the day, his worries over the dangers to the pueblo and the alcalde's possible role and what to do for Felipe and so many other things might nearly overwhelm him, but now these things barely touched him. For Zorro, as always, there was only this: the lightning fast race through the darkness, the hard excitement of the chase, the thrill of drawing a hunt to its close.   
  
The intoxicating curl of adventure through his veins was a call hard to resist. A surprise there, for a man given to seriousness all his life. And yet he never felt so alive as when he was humiliating yet another of the alcalde's schemes, or dodging the shots of the soldiers or leaping from Toronado onto a runaway coach. Zorro had released a side of himself he had barely guessed existed and still had the power to surprise even him. How ironic that it should take a mask to free him, as much as it bound him in other ways. It had become an addiction so strong he didn't know how he was to give it up should this never ending quest come to an end, no matter how much he might regret the reasons which had driven him into mask in the first place.  
  
But for now there was just this chase through the twisting path through the scrub. He'd found a bandit separated from the rest of his gang on the road from the town. He'd let the man think he'd escaped, and now was tracking him back to his friends.  
  
Through the darkness he spied a the flicking light of a campfire. As he grew closer he saw the man he'd been chasing ride up and two others silhouetted against the orange light of the fire. He grinned. Three was a very manageable number.  
  
"What are you in such a hurry for?" one of the two men by the fire asked his friend who was just dismounting.  
  
"Zorro!" the one he'd been chasing said. "He found me on the road. I managed to get away but-"  
  
"You idiot!" said the third, spitting in disgust. "You don't get away from the Fox. He's probably tracking you as we speak if he's not here already."  
  
"You are most perspicacious, my friend, for here indeed am I." Diego said from his vantage point just at the edge of the firelight. He bowed his head slightly in seeming respect toward the man who'd just spoken, grinning widely as he rose again.   
  
The men scattered, drawing weapons. Diego wasted no time kicking Toronado forward. The third man aimed and fired his pistol, but Diego was already slipping to hang from the side of the saddle and the bullet passed by harmlessly over his head. As Toronado rocketed by the man, Diego grabbed the gun from his hand and hit him soundly on the back of the head with it. He dropped like a stone as Diego swung himself back upright and pulled Toronado back towards the other two.   
  
The second bandit was also aiming a pistol as the man he'd tracked bolted off into the darkness. Toronado swerved, spoiling the gunman's aim, and a snap of Diego's whip sent the pistol flying. The whip cracked again, curling itself around the bandit's leg, and a pull of Diego's arm sent him sprawling on his back. Diego threw himself from the saddle and trussed him up before the dazed man could react.   
  
That left the third, who had a few seconds' head start into the brush. But the man's panic was clearly robbing him of both strength and wits. Diego saw several signs of where the man had fallen in his rush and the direction he'd taken was leading him toward a deep gully with no easy escape.   
  
An impulse grabbed Diego and he ducked and rolled forward just as the man leapt from behind a tree and swung at him with his sword. Diego rolled to his feet and drew his with a slight, ironic bow.  
  
"Let us hope you make a better swordsman than you do bandit, Senor," he said with a laugh.  
  
The man swore and swung at him wildly. Diego traded blows with him for a moment just for the pleasure of it, but eventually struck the sword out of the other man's hand. The bandit backed up and tripped backwards over a rock. He scrambled back, trying to regain his feet, but Diego leapt forward and pressed the tip of his sword to his chest and carved his signature Z into the fabric. The bandit understandably froze.  
  
"Alas for you, Senor, it seems your fencing skills are also somewhat lacking," Diego said with mock sincerity. "Still though, think of all you have to learn! And is not the quest for knowledge one of life's greatest pleasures?"  
  
The bandit groaned and Diego laughed pleasantly.   
  
The pueblo's troubles might be legion and when he took off the mask he would have to remember them in full force, but sometimes it was well to remember that life could be very good indeed. 


	9. Chapter Nine

Victoria hugged her arms to her chest against the chill of the evening. It was late, and even a woman who had as little care for respectability as she did ought to be in bed. But her thoughts were chasing themselves to wildly too allow any space for rest.   
  
So she came out here on the back porch of the tavern although it was late and not really proper for her to be standing here in her night dress even with the wrap over it. The chill and the stillness of the night brought her a peace the smothering closeness the walls of her bedroom had not. She desperately needed a little peace just now.   
  
She leaned her head against the wall and inhaled deeply. It had been a difficult few days even against the background of a month of them behind that. A few days ago several of the men Zorro had rounded up earlier that week had broken free from the prison, had stolen weapons and alcohol from the garrison's store and had ridden loudly out of town firing their weapons in the air and promising to return with further violence once they'd met up with their friends.  
  
The alcalde had done nothing-had _restrained_ Mendoza when he'd attempted to form his men into some kind of resistance.   
  
The thieves, drunk and armed on their stolen loot, had come across a small shareholder's farm on the San Saba lands. They'd burned the elderly couple's one-room house and had left the farmer wounded and his wife in hysterics.  
  
And Zorro? Zorro had been too busy chasing another pack of the brigands to put a stop to any of it. He'd ridden into town, the three of them tied together on one horse. There had been something in his demeanor, a lightness, a subversive pleasure at the bandits' discomfiture, that had been missing for some time. Seeing it there her own heart had lifted for a moment.  
  
Until she'd had to tell him what happened and watch the smile on his face die. He'd not flinched in the slightest, nor given any other outward sign of how the news might affect him. But in his stillness she, who knew him so well, had read the sharpness of his anger.  
  
"Are you all right, querrida?" he'd asked gently, cradling her two small hands in his larger ones.   
  
"This is just all so horrible," she said, hating herself for her weakness, though she knew he wouldn't see it as such. She was supposed to be _strong_. She was supposed to be her own woman, not clinging to the nearest man in times of trouble. But she didn't fight as he pulled her head to rest against his chest and stroked her hair for a moment.  
  
"I will find the ones who did this, I promise you, Victoria."  
  
His warmth and the surety in his voice gave Victoria some of her strength back. She wrapped her arms around him and tried to give some of it back to him. She didn't want such promises from him, knowing he'd try all the harder to fulfill it in exchange for all the others, spoken and not, that he'd been unable to keep to her over the years. But he had needed to give it, and more so needed her to accept it, to believe in it, so she'd said nothing.  
  
That had been three nights ago. Ordinarily she'd have gone to Diego. She might have frustrations with Diego, but he was her good and dear friend, even when she didn't deserve it. He probably wouldn't have any answers, who would, but he would listen, truly _listen_ and she so desperately needed that right now. But Diego was denied her. She was too sensible to risk riding out to the hacienda alone no matter her need to see her friend.  
  
As for Diego coming to see her-that didn't seem much of a possibility these days. She'd hurt him that day, deeply she thought. Diego presented to the world a nearly impenetrable wall of unruffled gentility, but there were times when she could sense she'd wounded him even if she never quite had any idea how or why. Diego had been doing his part to help protect his people and his father's lands in Alejandro's absence, doing far more than she'd accomplished hidden safely behind the walls of Zorro and the relative quiet of the town itself, and all she'd done was laugh at him for it. Small wonder that he rarely went to such efforts if this was the reaction he got.  
  
She drew a sharp breath. Stop it, Victoria. Self-pity is an indulgence you don't have time for right now. You will mend things with Diego as you always do.   
  
"And what are you thinking about with such intensity, dearest?" said a familiar voice from a few feet away.  
  
She smiled but didn't open her eyes.  
  
"Diego de la Vega," she said, just to see how he'd react.   
  
"Diego?"  
  
Well if she'd wanted surprise, she'd certainly received it. The tightness in her chest relaxed marginally. He sounded so very tired, so in need of distraction, and she was happy to provide it if only for a brief moment.  
  
"And you, of course," she said, opening her eyes. He stood just a few feet away, a shape even darker than the night around her.   
  
"As much as the sight delights me, querrida, is it perhaps not too cold a night for you to be out here, alone?"  
  
"Perhaps you should do something about that," she said, holding out a hand.   
  
He stepped closer and drew her lightly against him. She shivered slightly, only then realizing how cold she'd been in comparison to his warmth.   
  
"You shouldn't be here," she said, hating herself for it, but needing to, nevertheless. "It is too dangerous."  
  
"I needed to see you," he said. She closed her eyes again at the pure exhaustion in his voice, but then sighed and brought her hand up to stroke his cheek.   
  
He kissed it and drew it back down again.  
  
"I found two of the men who escaped earlier," he said. "The alcalde should find them enjoying the hospitality of his prison tomorrow morning when he opens for business."  
  
"Somehow I don't think he will appreciate his gift."  
  
"You are undoubtedly correct, though it is a pity. I went to quite an effort to tie them up just right for him."  
  
She shook her head and smiled a little. It shouldn't surprise her any more that just a few moments with him was enough to right her world no matter how wildly it was spinning, but it always did.   
  
"It is late," she said, stepping back reluctantly, "and you are tired."  
  
"Always sensible, Victoria," he said, "it is one of the things I love best about you."  
  
He took her hand and kissed first her palm and then her wrist.   
  
"Unlike the alcalde, I am not unappreciative of the gifts life gives me. I could not do this without you, querrida, remember that."  
  
Like that, the peace he'd brought was shattered. This disquiet, however, was not entirely unwelcome. Cursing the need for it, she took a step back. She caught his rueful smile in the faint moonlight.  
  
"Until we meet again," he said, bowing slightly.  
  
She didn't notice Toronado standing there in the street behind him until he grasped the horse's saddle and swung himself up. Sometimes she could almost believe the local superstition that Toronado was supernatural, so quiet and dark was he.   
  
Zorro looked down on her for a moment, seemingly reluctant to leave.  
  
"You should go," she said. He said he valued sensibility. That was what it was. Certainly not stupidity, to send away a man such as he on a night like this.  
  
She heard a flint strike and then a light flared a few feet down the street followed quickly by others until the small avenue behind the tavern was flooded.  
  
"Excellent advice, Senorita Escalante," the alcalde said, stepping around a corner. "It is too bad you didn't suggest it earlier."  
  
Zorro pushed his horse forward between Victoria and the alcalde, but not before she saw the alcalde raise his pistol.  
  
Toronado reared as the shot rang out. Zorro flew back from the impact of the bullet and then slumped down over the horse's neck as Toronado lowered his front hooves back on the ground. The reins fell from Zorro's hand and the horse, uncontrolled, swerved from the men and the lights and raced off in the opposite direction.   
  
"After him, you idiots," the alcalde shouted, raising his arm again to shoot.   
  
"No!" Victoria threw herself at the alcalde and shoved his arm up. He swore and pushed her violently down into the street. The soldiers ran around her after their prey.  
  
"Ordinarily, Senorita, I would have you arrested for interfering in the capture of a dangerous criminal," the alcalde said. She looked up at him and only read triumphant contempt in his eyes.  
  
"Fortunately for you, however, your interference will not matter. That bullet took him in the chest. If he is not dead already, he will be by morning."  
  
He bowed slightly, with all outward signs of courtesy. Then he simply walked away, leaving her there lying there, her night dress torn and dirty, in the street.  
  
"No!" she cried after him. "It would take more than you to kill Zorro."  
  
"As you will, Senorita," the alcalde said, but he did not stop.  
  
"He is not dead, not Zorro," she said, her eyes blurring with tears. But she did not know whom she was trying to convince: him, or herself.   
  
There, lying just a few inches away from her, was a small pool of blood. 


	10. Chapter Ten

Diego lay across Toronado's neck, barely able to keep his seat as the horse galloped along in his uncontrolled flight. Each hard impact of the horse's hooves against the hard-packed earth ricocheted through his body, making it increasingly difficult to retain consciousness. He'd heard the soldiers running after and Victoria's panicked cries, but Toronado had outpaced them all and ran his own path into the night. He kept one hand twisted in Toronado's sweat-soaked mane, trusting the horse to find the way back. The other hand he pressed tightly against his side, trying to stem the flow of blood. But Toronado's jolting gate kept tearing at the wound, and it was becoming harder and harder to keep enough pressure.  
  
The pain was unexpected, fierce. In all his years as Zorro he'd been shot at times beyond counting, and even Mendoza's soldiers could not miss every time, but his earlier wounds had been shallow, barely worse than deep scratches. This he had no experience for.   
  
He felt Toronado slow and then stop, but he couldn't move, could barely think. Frantic hands grabbed his shoulders. He lifted his head and saw Felipe standing beside Toronado, his face bloodless white. Beyond him was the familiar workbench and his laboratory equipment.  
  
The cave then. Safety.   
  
"Felipe," he said, forcing some strength into his voice for the boy's sake. He shifted his weight to dismount and would have fallen if the young man hadn't caught him and eased him down onto the floor. He started to speak again, but Felipe pressed his hand against his lips.   
  
Now that he was off Toronado, the pain diminished, leaving him room to concentrate. The world spun less lying here on the floor. He was grateful for it, but he was so tired. He just needed to close his eyes for a minute, just one.  
  
Felipe's slaps against his face drew him out again.   
  
He tried focusing on his friend's face, but couldn't keep his eyes open.  
  
Felipe shook him harder this time and briefly the world snapped into clarity.  
  
*I don't know what to do * Felipe signed, his panic nearly making the normally crisp gestures incomprehensible. *You have to tell me what to do. *  
  
"Help me sit up," Diego said, gasping a little at the effort. He had to remain calm, had to fight off his own panic for both their sakes. Felipe would not know what to do on his own, and each moment was ebbing what little strength he had left.  
  
Felipe looked unsure for a moment, but then grabbed a few of Toronado's blankets and placed them behind Diego's back as gently as he could manage. Diego winced, but it was easier to breathe in that position, and, lifting his head, he could get a better look at the wound.   
  
"It's not . . . it's not as bad as I had feared," he said, dropping his head back against the blankets. The bullet had cut a deep gouge into his right side, but it could have been worse. De Soto was a better shot than his men. If Toronado hadn't reared and thrown his aim off, the bullet would have lodged in his chest. Still, there was quite a lot of blood, and although the flow had slowed, more was seeping out by the minute.  
  
"You'll have to clean it," he said, knowing neither of them would enjoy the process.   
  
Felipe's shaky movements had calmed and he nodded firmly before disappearing from Diego's sight. A moment later Felipe gently but firmly pulled away Diego's hand where he'd pressed it to his side again and ripped the shirt to bare the skin beneath. Diego felt a cloth gently wiping away the majority of the blood, but then Felipe gripped his arm hard and Diego nodded. He gritted his teeth, but it didn't help much when Felipe poured alcohol over the wound to clean it properly.   
  
Felipe finished the grim task, but didn't allow Diego's distress to distract him from applying firm enough pressure with the cloth to clean the injury thoroughly. He stopped and allowed Diego a few merciful seconds to get his breath back.  
  
Diego closed his eyes and tried to fight the nauseating waves of pain emanating from his side, but it was a losing battle. The greyness was closing in with each breath.   
  
"You'll have to apply a poultice," he gasped out finally. "You should use the recipe in the green box. The one from Padre Benitez."   
  
Felipe pressed his fingers against his lips again, silencing him and he faded from true alertness again.  
  
Some time later, possibly a moment, possibly a full half an hour, Felipe returned and began to dress the wound. Diego opened his eyes again and raised his head, thinking to help the boy, but Felipe's movements were confident and his lips were set in a grim line.   
  
*You have to sit up. I have to be able to wrap the bandage. *  
  
Diego struggled for a moment to comply, but then Felipe's arm was beneath him again, strong and sure. The boy propped him up against his shoulder and then began to wind the bandage tightly around his ribs. The movement was awkward as he tried to keep Diego vertical, but he managed it finally and laid Diego back down again.  
  
*The bleeding has stopped, * Felipe signed.   
  
Diego nodded. The pain was receding slightly, and the world was slowly righting itself once again. But the deep fatigue was weighing down on him, and his strength to fight it was fading fast.   
  
Felipe pulled away Diego's sweat soaked mask and wiped the dirt and sweat from his face with a clean cloth.  
  
He found and pressed Felipe's hand in thanks. "You'll have to help me up. The night's nearly gone and I have to be back in bed before the others wake up."  
  
*Wait here* Felipe said, pressing the signs into Diego's hand as he had when he was younger, as a game.  
  
Felipe returned in a moment. Before Diego could say anything, the boy had place an arm under his shoulders and was levering him up again.  
  
*You have to help * he signed with his free hand.  
  
Diego didn't bother to answer, just put his strength into regaining his feet.   
  
The world spun again for a moment, but with Felipe's help he was able make it to his bed and remove the rest of Zorro's trappings.  
  
His overwhelming fatigue was finally winning the battle, but there was so much he had to do. He couldn't give in, not yet.  
  
"We won't be able to hide everything from the others," he said. "They will know something is wrong. And Victoria-Victoria! she was there, she could be in danger . . . " he started to sit up, but the pain stabbed, knife sharp, and he collapsed against the bed, gasping.  
  
Felipe was beside him in a moment, his hands fluttering over Diego as if he feared where he could touch him without hurting him. After a moment the spasm passed, but it left him without the breath to speak.  
  
*You have to stay there. * Felipe signed, the expression on his young face a strange mix of severity and panic. *You're going to have to let me take care of things. *  
  
"But Victoria-and the servants, they will want to know. . . "  
  
*I will take care of it. You have to rest. *  
  
Diego gave into the boy's insistence and the weakness of his own traitorous body and allowed himself to relax fully into the bed. Felipe pulled up the blankets gently and rearranged the pillows properly.   
  
*Don't worry. I will take care of everything. *  
  
Felipe's motions were calm and soothing. His body's near collapse was taking him into sleep even if his mind was in turmoil. A numbness spread through his limbs, erasing the aches, blessedly dulling the pain. It rolled over him like a blanket, and for a while Diego knew no more.  
  
Author's note: I hesitated to post this even though I do have quite a few more scenes written just because it feels a bit off to me. I'd be interested to hear reader reaction to it, though perhaps that is not possible yet. I needed Diego wounded for plot purposes, but I was having trouble establishing how serious the wound was. I wanted it to be serious, but not immediately life threatening if that makes any sense. At the same time, I had to make it seem in the last scene to Victoria and more especially the alcalde that Zorro had in fact been wounded far more seriously than he was. I don't quite know if that's what I've established, but it's what I'm going with. Never having been shot, I don't quite know how one would react to it, but I'd have to think you'd be weakened and fairly non-functional even if the bullet hadn't lodged anywhere vital. So that's what I based Diego's symptoms on here. Like I said, I'd be grateful to know if it works or at least if it plays out well enough in subsequent scenes. 


	11. Chapter Eleven

Author's Note: I apologize for being so slow to post this story, especially considering its length. Unfortunately, it being mid semester, I haven't had much time for writing, unless you count "Michelle1 and the Case of the Never-ending Literature Review" or my personal favorite--the weekly edition of "Michelle1 and the 12 Hour Statistics Homework".   
  
Once prelims are over, things will get back to normal, and I promise to start posting this more quickly. I'm afraid this section's a bit short, but I wanted to post something anyway. For those of you who've been asking, Alejandro returns to the story eventually-in fact he kind of hijacked it for a while, but his appearance isn't for a few more scenes, so you'll have to bear with me. Anyway, I wanted to thank everyone who's been commenting on this story and tell you I'm posting it as quickly as I can. I hope to post more this weekend, but we'll have to see.  
  
* * * * *  
  
*Diego is ill. He cannot ride out today. * Felipe signed again.  
  
Juan looked at him in confusion and Felipe mentally growled in frustration.  
  
A sound in the kitchen distracted him, and, lit with an idea, he went in to grab Maria, who at least could mostly understand him.  
  
*You have to tell Juan that Diego is sick. * he signed slowly as he led her back to the yard.  
  
"Don Diego is ill?" she said, concern instantly transforming her features. She cast a worried glance toward the end of the hacienda where Diego slept.   
  
Juan was looking at the two of them.   
  
*Yes. You know he was been very tired lately. *  
  
At Juan's continued confusion, Maria figured out she was to translate and did so. Felipe sighed in relief.  
  
"Is it serious?" Juan asked, doing Felipe the favor of directing the question to him, rather than Maria.  
  
Felipe shook his head. *No, but he has to rest for a few days. He's been doing too much. *  
  
Juan's face twisted in anger and spat his chew into the yard. "It's not like it's unexpected."  
  
"You knew he was sick?" Maria asked, frowning.  
  
Juan shrugged. "Tchah, we all knew he couldn't keep up with all he's been doing. I always thought Don Diego was the only one of these caballeros who had any sense, but lately I've wondered about that." Another shrug. "The boys and I could have done the scouting ourselves. I should have insisted-but Don Diego always seemed to know where the trouble would be and how to keep ourselves protected."   
  
Juan was clearly angry, but beneath that was a wide streak of real concern, matching the one on Maria. The de la Vega's people had always been very fond of Diego, but in the last few weeks, after he'd rescued Miguel's son and worked so hard not only for the protection of his father's assets but for the safety of his people themselves, they'd become even more fiercely protective of him.  
  
"Should I send some men for Dr. Hernandez?" Juan asked.  
  
Felipe thought that over. Doctor Hernandez would discover far too much if called, and Felipe didn't think Diego's condition was serious enough to risk that.   
  
*No, I don't think that's necessary. Diego just needs to sleep. *  
  
But if Diego got any worse, he wouldn't hesitate in a moment.  
  
Juan nodded, still obviously worried but satisfied. "I didn't think the day could get any worse, but then it did."  
  
*What happened? *  
  
Juan looked surprised. "You haven't heard the news?"  
  
"What is it?" Maria asked.  
  
"The worst has happened." Juan shook his head. "Rodrigo stayed last night in town to visit his sister and her husband. This morning he returned with the news that the alcalde set a trap for Zorro last night. Zorro got away, but he was badly wounded, possibly killed."  
  
Felipe did his honest best to look surprised and dismayed. The dismay, at least, wasn't much of an act.  
  
Maria gasped and took a step back. "Zorro-dead! It can't be true, it can't."  
  
"Don't know anything more on that," Juan said, his face grim. "But I don't want to think what it means if it is true."  
  
Maria covered her face with her hand and turned away.   
  
Juan faced Felipe. "With Don Diego ill and this news from town, we must be more careful than ever. I will take the men on patrol. You must stay here and care for Diego."  
  
Felipe nodded. Juan gripped Maria's shaking shoulder and then strode off toward the stables, shouting commands as he went.  
  
Felipe led Maria back inside. She turned to her kitchen duties with something like relief on her face, though she was still pale.  
  
*I will check on Diego. *  
  
She nodded. "I will make him some soup later, when he wakes up."  
  
He smiled, grateful that she was trying to maintain normal patterns.  
  
When he reached Diego's room, he found Diego fast asleep, breathing deeply and easily. Felipe closed his eyes and sighed in relief. He'd checked the wound earlier, though Diego, thank blessed Jesu, had slept through that. The poultice had helped the wound seal, though it looked an angry red and the skin around it was black with bruising.   
  
Still, in the light of day, it did not seem as serious as it had last night, when Diego had fallen, half-unconscious and bloody, from Toronado. Felipe was no doctor, nor scholar like Diego, but he thought the real problems were from all the blood Diego had lost from the long ride home and the risk of infection. If Diego would give himself a few weeks' rest from Zorro, it should heal completely. The problem was getting Diego to take those weeks.   
  
But for now, Diego was asleep and not likely to go anywhere. His skin was pale from the loss of blood, but the color was much better than it had been last night. Felipe laid a palm across his forehead to check his temperature and frowned at the slight rise in temperature. It wasn't much, but Diego was so weak and had already been exhausted. If the fever got any higher, he'd have to call Dr. Hernandez.   
  
He still couldn't get that image out of his head: Diego, his shirt soaked in blood, lying on the cave floor struggling to keep the both of them calm. Diego had been so weak and there had been so much blood . . . Felipe had thought, when he'd first seen him lying still on Toronado's back, that he was dead.  
  
He opened his eyes again and forced himself to replace the image with Diego as he was now. Wounded, but safely asleep, getting his first real rest in days. He probably was safer here, forced by his injury to rest, than he would be whole, chasing after the outlaws. Felipe couldn't really bring himself to be grateful for that, however.  
  
The energy that had sustained Felipe through the nightmarish hours of last night fled him in a rush. He lay down beside Diego on top of the covers, not wanting to go very far. Diego would need him, later. 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Diego woke, for a moment entirely disoriented. A dull ache resided just behind his eyes, matching the sharper one in his side, and his throat felt scratchy and dry. He moved slightly and realized from the soft press of the covers that he was in bed.  
  
The events of the night before rushed in. Victoria! She might have been hurt or worse. He tried to sit up, but the ache in his head switched to a stabbing pain and the world spun dizzily.  
  
Someone was beside him in an instant, pressing him back down again, rubbing his temples until the pain receded. He opened his eyes again.  
  
Felipe, of course.  
  
*You shouldn't do that again. *  
  
"Felipe, Victoria was there last night. She could be in danger. I have to-"  
  
Felipe clamped his hand against Diego's mouth and applied a firm pressure to Diego's shoulder to keep him from trying to sit up again.  
  
*Victoria is all right * he signed, lifting the hand from Diego's shoulder.  
  
Diego tried to push Felipe's hand away so he could speak, but his arm was weaker than he'd expected.  
  
*We had word from town. Victoria is safe. _Safe_*  
  
Diego didn't entirely believe it, but Felipe wouldn't lie to him, not about something like that. He relaxed and, after eyeing him for a moment, Felipe finally relented and released him.  
  
*You need to eat something. *  
  
Diego nodded. Felipe, with a stern look and a gesture ordering him not to move, went out into the hall. He returned bearing a bowl of what smelled like corn chowder.   
  
Diego, feeling as helpless as a child, allowed Felipe to help him into a better position and then to eat the soup. The thick broth felt good against his throat and some of the headache dissipated. Diego finished the meal in silence, but he couldn't keep still for long.  
  
Felipe turned to carry the soup bowl away, but Diego grabbed his arm and turned him back again.  
  
"There is news, and I can tell from your expression it isn't good."  
  
Felipe shook his head, frowning.  
  
"Felipe."  
  
*No. *  
  
"You have to tell me."  
  
Felipe's expression was growing angrier by the minute. *No I don't. If I tell you, you'll try to fix it, even though you can't even get out of bed. *  
  
"I will just ask Juan if you will not tell me."  
  
Felipe clutched the soup bowl so strongly his knuckles went white for a moment, but then he shook his head angrily and faced Diego more squarely.  
  
*The news is bad. You are right. Victoria _is_ safe, but the town is not. The alcalde has proclaimed that Zorro is dead. The people are in a panic. *  
  
Diego digested that. It was no less than he'd expected, though the news about Victoria softened it.   
  
*Your wound * Felipe signed hesitantly, *it is not as deep as I thought, but you lost a lot of blood. * Felipe paused and swallowed, but continued with more resolve. *If you push things, you will just hurt yourself. You can't do anything about this right now. You have to admit that. *  
  
If Diego couldn't than his body's contrary lassitude could.  
  
"You are right, of course." Five words, barely a sentence, really, but among the hardest he'd ever spoken.  
  
Felipe, reading what must show of his guilt, shook his head again. *It's not your fault. It's the alcalde who is doing these things not you. It's not your job to fight everyone's battles for them. *  
  
"If not my job, than whose?"   
  
*I don't know. Someone not you.*  
  
Diego could tell Felipe was becoming truly angry at this point and it was rapidly beginning to concern him. "Felipe . . ."  
  
*No! You're _hurt_. The wound isn't that bad-now-but it could get that way. You're developing a fever, and I don't know what losing all that blood will do to you. * He stopped, shook his head. *I'm not a doctor. I don't know what I'm doing here. *  
  
"You are dealing with a stubborn patient who doesn't realize how lucky he is to have a friend such as you," Diego said, placing a hand on Felipe's arm.   
  
Felipe looked at him, his face suspicious.  
  
"No, you are right, and I am being foolish. I do not like to be so helpless, but there is no sense arguing that a well armed five-year-old child could probably best me now."  
  
Felipe relaxed and a slight grin lessened the worry on his face. *I think it would take a six-year-old at least. *  
  
Diego laughed, but then stopped with a slight gasp as his side protested.  
  
Felipe hovered, trying to see where he might help, but Diego waved him off. The smile had disappeared from the young man's face.  
  
*I wish Don Alejandro were here, * he signed after a moment, not looking at Diego.  
  
His father, here. What he might give for that. "Yes, I could wish that as well."   
  
If wishes were horses . . .   
  
"Felipe?" Maria's voice, from outside the door. "I have the tea you wanted for Diego."  
  
Felipe slipped from the bed and went to the door, opening it just enough to take the tea so Maria could not see Diego.  
  
"Do you need anything else?" There was a strong current of anxiety in Maria's voice, though she did an admirable job in keeping it steady.  
  
Felipe made some sign Diego couldn't see and then the door closed again.  
  
The young man poured Diego a cup of tea from Maria's tray and sat back.  
  
*Drink it. There are some things from your herb chest. *  
  
Diego nodded and took a sip. He tasted chamomile, willow bark, unsurprising and welcome: a few other things he didn't recognize immediately.  
  
As he finished the tea, he had a harder and harder time keeping his eyes open and Felipe had to grab the cup before he dropped it.  
  
"I'm sorry, Felipe," he said, clutching the boy's arm to steady himself. "I don't know what's wrong with me."  
  
Felipe was watching him a little too closely-and there was something in his face, half satisfied, half fearful . . . something clicked in Diego's head.  
  
"What was in that tea?" he said, grabbing both Felipe's shoulders now.  
  
Felipe easily pushed him back down into the bed. *I'm sorry. * he signed, looking overwhelmingly contrite. *But you need to sleep so badly and you're just so stubborn. *  
  
On another day, this might almost be funny. But just now his thoughts were slipping away from him as the dizziness increased.  
  
Felipe was actually smirking a little. *Sleep now. I'll be back later. *  
  
It was the last thing he saw before sleep claimed him again. 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

It had been five days since Diego had been shot. Five of the worst days of Felipe's life.   
  
Diego was not a good patient, to say the least. He'd stayed, dutifully, in bed for the first two days, but after that he couldn't contain himself any longer.  
  
His injury made sure he couldn't go farther than the parlor, but that was far enough. Far enough anyway for Diego to receive Juan and others of their servants. That meant Felipe couldn't control access to Diego, couldn't keep the others from bringing him news from the pueblo and from the de la Vega ranch.   
  
The news was very bad. The pueblo was in as bad a shape as it had been when Diego had returned from Spain so many years ago. The alcalde, convinced that Zorro would no longer interfere with his plans, had reinstated all the laws Zorro had fought over the years. Taxes were raised to their highest levels despite the strain the outlaws had placed on many of the merchants. The alcalde was going from business to business and farm to farm, collecting the tax from those few who could pay, sentencing those who could not to public beatings or worse.   
  
It seemed the news of Zorro's death had ignited the outlaws as well, and they rode, unchecked across the lands surrounding the town. The de la Vega ranch, earlier protected by Juan and Diego's careful precautions, lost a half-dozen cattle the first night, and the second had seen the looting of several of the tenants' houses. It was clear that Juan and the others didn't want to trouble Diego with this news, but the situation was getting increasingly worse, and there was no one else to whom they could turn. Diego had reimbursed those whose homes had been damaged and offered temporary housing in the dwellings adjacent to the hacienda where Maria and Buena and some of the other house servants lived. Alejandro and Diego did not have as heavy use for servants as many other caballeros, so there had been some space, but it was filled now. Felipe didn't know what they would do if more came. Some of those who came were not even farmers on de la Vega land, but Diego didn't turn them away even so.   
  
Today, Diego, apparently weary of life, had decided he had to ride out again with the vaqueros to see just how bad the damage was and what might be done about it. The wound in his side had closed over to the point where he no longer strictly needed to bandage it and he'd regained some of his color, but his activity over the last few days had had its cost. The wound wouldn't properly heal, and had a tendency to tear open if he spent too much time out of bed. It was obvious, too, that it made walking difficult and drained away the strength from what rest Diego granted himself.   
Juan and the others didn't appear to much like the plan any more than Felipe, but what could any of them do? As the weeks had gone by, Diego had given up all pretenses of his assumed personality, at least among his men, and they'd come to depend upon him. Their people clearly needed direction and were only too grateful when Diego offered to provide it.  
  
*You can't do this, * Felipe signed as they went out into the yard, not caring who might be watching. *You're still not anywhere near well enough. *  
  
Diego threw the gathered men a glance but then spun and grabbed Felipe's shoulders. "Felipe, my friend, I know you are concerned, but there must be an end to this argument," he said lowly. "These people look to us for protection. In my father's absence they are even doubly my responsibility. I cannot abandon them, nor will I as long as I have strength to do so. I would appreciate your help in this, though I will understand if you cannot grant it."  
  
Even Felipe could not argue with that. This was not Zorro talking, but the de la Vega in Diego. Don Alejandro might have given the same speech.   
  
*Please be careful. * Felipe said, tired of arguing, too tired to protect Diego from himself any longer.  
  
Diego squeezed his shoulder and then swung into the saddle of the horse with no sign of injury beyond a slight tightening of his face.  
  
Juan looked at him for a long moment but then shook his head and they moved out. Felipe watched after, feeling angry and useless.  
  
He went to his room and tossed himself on the bed. He should probably sleep. Diego wasn't the only one who'd been losing hours of sleep the last month. Felipe worried nearly as much as Diego about the plans of the alcalde and the hordes of bandits who seem to have centered on their town and his friends who lived out on the ranch. But he just couldn't see why it was only Diego who could answer these problems and why he had to pay the highest price.   
  
He curled up into a miserable ball. Things had just kept getting worse and worse. Felipe had to admit that he was probably even more guilty than the rest of thinking that Zorro would eventually come up with a solution, or at least he had been at first. But he hadn't, because he couldn't, and if even Diego couldn't do anything, who could?   
  
He spent a few hours tossing and turning on his bed, trying to find some sleep so he'd be rested when Diego came back.   
  
The sound of men in the yard came through his window, startling him from his restless slumber. He blinked in surprise. The sun was casting long shadows through the window, making it late afternoon at least. Diego had left in the morning. He ought to have been back hours ago.   
  
Felipe ran out of the room and out toward the yard. Diego had promised to keep the ride short. He'd _promised_ . Diego wasn't the type to make such promises lightly. If he was hurt . . .   
  
The sight that greeted him in the stable yard brought him to a sudden stop.   
  
Juan, leaning heavily on Rodrigo, was making his way painfully towards him. His left arm looped over Rodrigo's shoulder, but the other hung limply in a bloody sling. A dirty strip of cloth wound around his head and, combined with his torn and bloody clothes, it gave him the look of one of the outlaws they'd been tracking.  
  
Juan looked up at Felipe, a horrible, guilty, pitying expression on his face. Felipe began to shake his head. No, no, _no_.  
  
He couldn't see . . . there was Diego's horse! . . . but then the men shifted and it became clear that the saddle was empty.  
  
_Where was Diego._  
  
He spun towards Juan. The vaquero took another step and nearly collapsed. Rodrigo said something, but Felipe couldn't hear beyond the ringing in his ears.  
  
This couldn't be happening. It _wasn't_ happening.  
  
But Juan took another step and shrugged off Rodrigo's arm so he could grip Felipe's shoulder. Felipe tried to push it off, but Rodrigo grabbed his arm.  
  
"It's all my fault, I should never have let him come." Juan stopped, closed his eyes, shook his head.   
  
Felipe wrenched himself away from Juan and Rodrigo. Juan nearly fell again but for Rodrigo's support.  
  
*What have you done with Diego? Where _is_ he? *  
  
Juan didn't understand his signs, but it didn't matter.  
  
"I am sorry, Felipe. Don Diego is missing."  
  
Author's Note: Yes, I know, another Convenient!Bandit attack. It's not the last of them either, I'm afraid. It's partially why it's been taking me so long to finish this story. I was trying to think of another way to take this story, but this idea jumped into my head a few months ago and _would not go away_. So, we're all stuck with it. This attack actually _does_ have a logical explanation, which we'll get to in the next section.   
  
Also, I'd like to thank everyone who sent me feedback in the last week. If I didn't reply, it's not that I don't appreciate it. Mid-semester is just kind of a crazy time for me. 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in posting this. I wasn't quite happy with it, but I didn't quite know how to fix it. Finally, I just decided to go with it as is.   
  
* * * * *   
  
Diego remained slumped against the man in the saddle in front of him and tried to retain his semblance of semi-consciousness. It wasn't that hard. It wasn't, truly, all that much of an act.   
  
When they'd been attacked, his thrice-damned, excitable horse had, predictably, run straight into the confrontation. Only, five seconds later, to throw him and, for the second time in a handful of weeks, run off in a panic back towards the hacienda. He'd chosen the horse because it was precisely the sort that someone of Diego de la Vega's public personality would pick: beautiful and graceful and beneath the shiny exterior basically the most useless excuse for a horse in all of California. A real horseman would know it for trouble in an instant. But that was just the point.  
  
Of course he hadn't ever planned on riding it into battle. He'd never thought to need any but Toronado for that.  
  
_The horse at least was probably safely returned to its comfortable stall, while you, Diego, are tied up on the back of a bandit's horse. Who then, would you say is the stupid one?_  
  
It was no good now to think on it now. The fall had dazed him and re-awakened the fierce pain in his side. He'd heard the shouts of his men and the gunfire overhead, but the battle had gone too quickly. By the time he'd gotten his breath back there had been a bandit standing over him with a gun pointed at him and his men were in full retreat.   
  
By some miracle, the bandit had not shot him, just hit him sharply on the head. It had been poorly done, so he was dazed rather than unconscious, but he didn't let that on as they'd bound his arms tightly behind his back and shoved him up on a horse behind one of their number.  
  
They'd been riding for some hours now, and Diego's disorientation had robbed him of any ability to tell where they might be heading.  
  
If only his head would stop pounding, he might be able to concentrate.  
  
_Yes, and if you weren't so foolish, you would not be in this mess in the first place. You should have listened to Felipe._  
  
Diego heard voices ahead, and when he squinted over the shoulder in front of him, he could see perhaps a dozen men around a fire. He cursed silently. He would have a hard time getting away from this many men.  
  
They arrived at the camp and the horse came to a stop. A small cause for gratitude there, at any rate.  
  
A man came up to him and shook his leg. Diego pretended to stir.  
  
"Get down. Domingo wants to speak with you."  
  
Diego allowed himself to be roughly pulled from the horse and then shoved to his knees before one of the men sitting close to the fire. The man, presumably this Domingo, was roasting some meat on a stick over the flame and laughing with one of his companions. It was some time before he allowed himself to notice Diego, kneeling there.  
Diego took the time to study him, though it was hard while trying to look appropriately fearful. The man looked about his father's age, though he didn't wear his years nearly as well. His long, mostly silvered hair was caught back in a ragged scrap of leather. The dirt and lines in his face were at odds with the fine coat and hat that had obviously been recently liberated from some caballero's wardrobe. It gave him a slightly comical air, but Diego knew far better than to judge by appearances..  
  
The man finally stopped his pretended conversation with his friend and looked at Diego for a long moment. "Well, friend, have you no manners? Will you not thank us for our fine hospitality?"  
  
The men around him laughed.  
  
Diego shrank back against the men holding him in place, though it ran against his instincts to show even pretended fear to such a man.  
  
The man cocked an eyebrow. "A man without humor. That is good. I do not think he will be doing much laughing."  
  
He stood and drew a knife. Diego didn't have to pretend to flinch as its cold deadly edge pressed against his neck.  
  
"Your name, Senor."  
  
Diego swallowed, trying to think quickly.  
  
The knife pressed a little harder.  
"My name is Martin."  
  
The edge of the blade scraped ever so slightly against his skin, drawing a line of blood in its wake that trickled in warm rivulets down his throat. Diego held his breath and the pressure eased the tiniest fraction.  
  
"That does not tell us who you are."  
  
Diego forced his breath to become rapid and shallow. "I am ranch manager to the Garcia lands in Santa Paula. Don Luis is friend to Don Alejandro de la Vega and sent me to help at the de la Vega ranch when he heard of the troubles."  
  
Diego held the man's eyes and tried to look the part he'd ascribed to himself. It was true that Don Luis was friend to his father and his ranch manager was named Martin. He had to hope that none of these bandits knew any more than that. It helped that he had worn his plainest clothes this morning and that his recent sickness made him look less the refined caballero.  
  
The knife fell and Domingo spun on the men who'd attacked Diego and the vaqueros.  
  
"Caballeros ride to the de la Vega ranch five times a week and all you can bring me is a cow herder from another town?"  
  
"He was giving orders to the de la Vega people. We thought he must be someone important," said the man just behind Diego's right shoulder.  
  
Domingo spat in the dust at this feet. "What kind of caballero rides out with his vaqueros? I told you to attack the hacienda, not the trails."  
  
"The de la Vegas have good people. The hacienda is too well defended."  
  
"Then you should have gone on to better hunting grounds. We have men wounded, and for what? This man has no value to us."  
  
"Wait," one of his men said. Domingo turned.  
  
"I've heard of the Garcia place. It's one of the biggest in California and de la Vega is one of the richest caballeros in the pueblo. He might be willing to bargain for the life of his friend's man."  
  
Domingo thought this over and nodded. "You are right, Esteban. And it is sometimes well to have a hostage you can afford to lose."  
  
He grabbed Diego's hair and wrenched his head back savagely. "It seems you are going to be spending some time with us after all, cow herder. But that could end very quickly if you give us any trouble."  
  
He let go of Diego's head with a violent push. "Put him with the others."  
  
Others?  
  
One of the men laughed and kicked Diego hard in the ribs. He gasped and tried not to let too much pain on his face as they lifted him by the arms and dragged him away from the fire. Eventually they dumped him on the ground and bound his legs with a length of rope.  
  
"He's not going anywhere. Let's get something to eat and talk to Domingo."  
  
There were sounds of assent above him and then footsteps faded a short distance away.  
  
"I am surprised to see you, _Martin_."  
  
Diego lifted his head. He knew that voice. It was awkward with his hands bound behind his back and his legs tied, but he managed to turn about enough to see a well dressed but disheveled caballero with his back leaning against a rock.   
  
"Don Esperanza!" he said, struggling to sit.  
  
The man was looking at him with a fierce expression of contempt. "I am surprised that an out of town ranch hand like yourself would recognize me."  
  
This could be very bad. The bandits would know by now that Alejandro was in Mexico. If they figured out who he was, they would know that the de la Vega hacienda was empty, undefended. Ciro Esperanza was not a man known for his subtlety, and he'd never shown any hesitation in expressing his absolute disdain for Diego himself. If Esperanza let on that Diego was not what he was pretending to be, it could be disastrous. He was going to have to be careful, here.  
  
"Don Esperanza, are you well? I was told that you were missing." Diego said, trying to keep his voice down. He'd heard from Juan that several important men had been taken on their way to town, but he'd been forced to admit there was nothing he could do about it. It hadn't stopped him from worrying over it, though.  
  
Esperanza sneered. "And so you have come in a blaze of glory to rescue me? Forgive me if I fail to be impressed."  
  
"Oh do be quiet, Ciro," said a second man, whom Diego just now saw was lying next to Esperanza.  
  
It was Hernan de Carraco. His voice was weak and, to Diego's disquiet, his head was wrapped in a heavy bandage.   
  
De Carraco struggled to sit up. Esperanza didn't look happy about it, but couldn't do much with his own arms bound.  
  
De Carraco eventually managed it and looked Diego over for a long moment. "Forgive me, Senor Martin, but you do not look well yourself."  
  
Diego fought to look calm. The older man looked ghastly pale and obviously speech was something of a struggle. "I will survive, but you . . ."  
  
De Carraco shook his head and winced. "I know."  
  
Diego tried to assess this new factor in the equation. He had already had a difficult task ahead of himself getting just himself free against so many men. Domingo, obviously the leader of these men, had an air of deadly competency around him that made Diego think he'd only get one attempt. But now he had these two to worry about. Leaving without them was unthinkable, but he could not begin to see a way for them all to find safety.   
"I don't know why you're even speaking to him, Hernan," Esperanza said. "Being forced to mingle with outlaws was bad enough. I don't see why I should speak with cowards who hide behind the title of a peasant. Look at him, he looks about half-ready to faint and he's just arrived."  
  
It was, unfortunately, a just observation. Diego had hoped getting off the horse would help his equilibrium, but it had not done as much as he had would like. The blow to his head had left a ringing ache in its wake and the kick to his side hadn't done him any good, either. The long ride with his men under the fierce sun had sapped more reserves than he'd anticipated and now he was barely able to keep himself sitting upright.   
  
"Diego," de Carraco said softly, his face gentle with concern.  
  
"I am well," Diego said. "And in any event it cannot matter."  
  
Even Esperanza snapped his mouth shut at that.  
  
Diego pushed himself back against the rock wall and rested his head against it. The bandits fortunately did not seem to be paying them any attention. Not that they needed to. All the camp's horses were on the opposite side of the fire and there were men posted along both navigable paths leading away. The brush was thick and slightly familiar, leading Diego to believe they were somewhere in the wilds to the south of the ranch of their neighbor, Don Ernesto.  
  
"How long have you been here?" he asked, keeping his voice low.  
  
"About a day," Esperanza said. The belligerence had left his tone. A blessing there. Esperanza was known to be difficult. "We move every forty-eight hours or so."  
  
Diego digested that. "Have they mistreated you?"  
  
"I should think a vaquero like you would be used to a few bruises."  
  
"You are not helping, Ciro" de Carraco said.  
  
"Oh all right. We have had nothing specific to complain of, though they keep close watch," Esperanza said.  
  
Diego was about to respond when he noticed Domingo watching. He froze, unexpectedly chilled. The bandits' leader rose from his position by the fire and wound his way over to his captives.  
  
"I am glad to see you settling in so well, Senor Martin. As a part of your welcome, I would like to remind you that we do not take well to men who try to escape. So ask your friends here as many questions as you would like, it will do you no good."  
  
Diego restrained his tongue. He did not like the look Domingo was giving him. It understood far too much. This man was careful and did not appear to be likely to do Diego the favor of underestimating him.  
  
"No arguments? Good. It will work better for us all if you accept the fact that there will be no escape, nor rescue."  
  
"Yes, your hero boy is dead!" yelled one of Domingo's men.   
  
The men laughed loudly.  
  
"No more Zorro to rescue you peasants from men like us," another shouted. "We'll rule Los Angeles within a month."  
  
Instead of joining in, Domingo looked surprisingly disgusted.  
  
"We will be leaving Los Angeles long before that," he said. "Once we trade these men for their ransom, we will be gone."  
  
"You worry too much, Domingo," one of the other men said, coming over to wrap an arm around Domingo's shoulder. "This alcalde promised us he wouldn't come after us as long as we kept Zorro busy and a thousand in gold to any who brought him Zorro's head. He's kept his word so far."  
  
"Yes," Domingo hissed. "And now that the alcalde has shot his fox himself, where do you think that leaves us? If you think De Soto is a man to be trusted, you are stupider than I thought."  
  
Diego didn't think he could be surprised at anything the alcalde did any more, but this nearly knocked the breath from him. He'd been surprised enough that De Soto had done nothing to stop the outlaws, but he had never once thought they might be here at his invitation.  
  
Domingo and his men fell into a heated argument, leaving Diego and the other two alone again.  
  
"Zorro," de Carraco spat. "I should have known he'd have something to do with this."  
  
It was Esperanza's turn to look surprised. Diego could barely pay attention.  
  
_These men came here to look for Zorro. For you._  
  
"Zorro! Don't you mean De Soto?" Esperanza asked.  
  
"Don't worry, I am not forgetting about him," de Carraco said, his voice hard. "But you, like every other person in our pueblo, even de la Vega for all his sense of honor, have always been blind where Zorro is concerned. How many plots has the alcalde inflicted upon us just for the purpose of catching this bandit? And how many people have suffered because of it?"  
  
Diego looked on, half-stunned. De Carraco was right. De Soto had done this just to get at him.  
  
"You've always hated him. Zorro is a warrior and a hero," Esperanza said, clearly growing angry. "I have been proud to watch him fight the alcalde. I was grieved to hear of his death, but at least he found an honorable one, fighting the alcalde to the end."  
  
"I know you at least agree with me, Di - I mean Martin," de Carraco was saying.  
  
"An argument in my favor if I ever heard one," Esperanza hissed.  
  
Diego leaned his head back and tried to reign in his thoughts. He did not need this. He couldn't deal with it right now.   
  
_But de Carraco is right. This is because of you._  
  
He shook his head. No, it was not. He didn't have a choice. He'd been shown the good Zorro had done. Los Angeles needed Zorro.  
  
_You needed Zorro. You needed the excitement, the challenge. Admit it._  
  
That was wrong. He knew that. It was just his exhaustion and surprised disappointment in De Soto talking.  
  
But the thought wouldn't go away.  
  
De Carraco and Esperanza's argument continued in intensity, though they kept it low. Now De Carraco was listing all the troubles Zorro had brought on their heads, and Esperanza was arguing how men like Diego made Zorro so necessary.  
  
It was just his luck to be stuck with the two men who hated both sides of him more than anyone in the pueblo, perhaps including the alcalde.   
  
Zorro might have found it amusing. Diego almost did himself.  
  
Two men broke from the camp and came with water and a thin bean soup, finally ending the argument. Diego took what was offered, though the water was brackish.   
  
After that, the three of them fell silent and Diego went back to assessing their chances for escape. It was clear none were available tonight.   
  
He leaned back and resolved to sleep. He needed to rest so he might be ready. When the moment came, he needed to be able to take it.  
  
  
* * * * * 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Author's Note: As promised, the return of Alejandro. This section is a bit long, but Alejandro, having been silent for most of this story, had a lot to say.  
  
* * * * *   
  
Don Alejandro tried again to calm his agitation. They still had an hour at least until they reached Los Angeles, and he could do nothing here.  
  
He tried and, for the hundredth time that minute at least, failed. What _had_ Diego been thinking? He knew the boy wasn't very good at handling serious matters even on the rare occasions when he put forth the effort, but this, _this_, was so inexcusable, so irredeemably responsible even by his son's low standards that for the first time he was sincerely wondering how he could be the father of such a man. Diego was his mother's son in all things, but Elena had been no coward and she had a stronger sense of responsibility than even Alejandro did himself.  
  
He shook his head and tried to swallow his frustration. A month ago he probably would not have been so disappointed. But in Mexico he'd been rethinking his attitude toward Diego, particularly after his encounter with Hidalgo. His boredom with Fernando's son and how very much he missed Diego's benign affability and easy conversation had forced him to realign many of the opinions he'd had. He and Diego were different men. But he'd come to think that perhaps that was not so ill a thing. And so he'd left Mexico weeks early, looking forward to reuniting with Diego and Felipe and Victoria and all the others he'd missed.   
  
But as they'd traveled further and further into California, the tales had started about the overwhelming troubles in Los Angeles. Stories about roads no longer passable due to roving bands of highwaymen, of ranches losing numbers of important livestock and of an alcalde who did nothing to fight all of this. When he'd reached Santa Paula, the stories had been backed up with grim fact. He'd talked to traveling merchants who'd given up on the road to Los Angeles, despite the money the growing town could bring them.   
  
According to them, the situation had been growing worse for weeks. _Weeks_ and Diego had not sent one word of any of this to Mexico.   
  
If the situation was as bad as the merchants tales said, and the price he'd had to pay for men to accompany him to Los Angeles was a fairly strong indication it was, then his people and his lands were in danger. He was very satisfied in the men who ran the ranch, but they could have no experience for this. Diego ought to have sent a message from the beginning. If he'd used their caballero privilege to send messages by post, Alejandro would have received word within days. He could have been here. Could have _done_ something.  
  
A shot rang out, accompanied by a hoarse scream. Alejandro immediately threw himself into a crouch on the floor of the coach and drew his pistol. A bullet shattered the glass in the window above him, sending shards raining down. A second bullet passed by overhead and then Alejandro dared a look out the window. The two men he'd hired were engaged with three armed men on horseback, and one of them was already wounded judging from the red staining his coat. The coachman was shouting at the horses, trying to get them to outpace their attackers, but that would never work.  
  
Alejandro grinned tightly. Three was a very manageable number.  
  
They probably thought him dead, or at least taken out of the fight. He used his surprise and sprung up and leaned out the window. He took a moment to aim carefully and squeezed off one round before throwing himself toward the front of the coach. He'd heard a man's scream accompany the shot, but he didn't have time for victory as three more bullets splintered the door and tore through the space he'd occupied just a second before.   
  
They knew he was here now. They'd be expecting him to go for the door again. He looked at the opposite window, also lying in shards on the floor.  
  
He tucked his pistol in his belt and lunged through the space where the window had been. His seeking hands found and grabbed the roof of the coach through the open window and he pulled himself through. The coach hit a rock and he nearly lost his grip, but he managed to haul himself to the coach roof though his lungs felt on fire.  
  
_You have become an old man, Alejandro._   
  
The two remaining highwaymen concentrated on the two men Alejandro had hired, apparently not noticing his move onto the roof. He grinned again. _Maybe old, but not dead yet._  
  
With a sudden prayer to the Almighty, Alejandro launched himself onto the front man. Perhaps the Almighty heard his prayer, or perhaps he had a fondness for old fools trying to pretend they were forty years younger, but he did not kill himself in the attempt. He fell heavily onto his target and they both fell in a crash onto the side of the road. The impact dazed Alejandro for a moment, but the man beneath him had faired worse.  
  
Alejandro rolled to his side and checked on the other's pulse. Good, the man was still alive. It was better to bring a man to trial, although that was may just postpone his death. He stood and looked down the road where the coach had fled. He felt as if every bone in his body was broken, though with the bandit to break his fall he was probably only due for some bad bruises.  
  
_Zorro did this sort of thing all the time. He made it look so easy._  
  
He straightened and put a hand on his aching back.  
  
_Zorro is clearly insane._  
  
"Don Alejandro! Don Alejandro!"  
  
"I am here!"  
  
One of the men he had hired was riding back down the road. He was looking at the unconscious man with amazement. Alejandro tried to look as if he accomplished such feats every day.  
  
"We had feared for you, Don Alejandro, but I can see our worries were unjustified. It is you who saved us."  
  
"The coach is safe then?"  
  
"Yes, after you took out the other two, Miguel and I were able to handle their friend."  
  
Alejandro nodded. "It is not safe here. We should round up these men and make it to the pueblo as quickly as possible."  
  
The man nodded and he and the coachman lifted Alejandro's prisoner onto one of the horses.  
  
The other two bandits were dead: one from Alejandro's bullet, one from Eduardo's. Alejandro knew that Zorro, and probably Diego, would regret such a senseless waste of life, but Alejandro, who had spent his youth as a soldier, could feel no guilt in defending his life against such men.  
  
But he sent up a prayer for the salvation of their souls and the strength to find forgiveness.  
  
"Come, we should get back to town."  
  
The coach was destroyed to the point where it could no longer be ridden in, so Alejandro was forced to take one of the bandit's horses. The death of the two men and the lowering of the excitement of the battle left him with a stronger tide of anger than even the one he'd been fighting since Santa Paula.  
  
If the bandits felt safe to attack even men with armed escorts, Los Angeles was in more danger than he'd thought.  
  
They arrived in Los Angeles close to noon. Normally at this time of day the square was bustling with people, but only a few roamed about, and they went quickly, almost fearfully.   
  
"Ah, Don Alejandro! So good of you to return. And I see you come bearing gifts."  
  
De Soto.  
  
"There had better be an explanation for all of this," Alejandro said, turning his horse about to face the alcalde.  
  
"Of course," De Soto said, with a grin that was all too pleasant. "Perhaps you would like to come in, wash down the heat of the road? My men will take care of this unfortunate bit of trash that you have brought along."  
  
Alejandro didn't like the sound of that, but he needed information and now.  
  
De Soto's office was a welcome cool after the heat of the square, and the lemonade he offered did much to clear the dust from his throat.  
  
"I was assaulted by three men on the road from Santa Paula," he said. "Three men in broad daylight attacked a coach with two armed men escorting it."  
  
"Yes," De Soto said, his face a study in sympathy. "I am afraid we have been experiencing some troubles since you left."  
  
Alejandro could not believe this, even from De Soto. "Trouble! You have abandoned the people of this town to murderers and thieves and you call that trouble?"  
  
De Soto raised an eyebrow. "Abandon is such a strong word. I was only giving the people what they wished."  
  
"Oh yes, the people of Los Angeles have been crying for years to be ruled by outlaws."  
  
De Soto grinned. "Exactly!"  
  
"Do you have some mental defect of which I was not previously aware?" Alejandro shook his head. "Or maybe I have gone mad, instead. It would explain much."  
  
"So droll, as usual, Don Alejandro," De Soto said. The grin hadn't left his face. Alejandro was beginning to read ill things in it.  
  
"Why, ever since I came, the people have protested any attempt on my part to enforce the laws as I see them. They are always turning to Zorro, who is, you must admit, a proclaimed outlaw by the King's justice. I am a reasonable man. If they so much preferred Zorro's law to my own, well, I could no longer stand in their way."  
  
Alejandro took an involuntary step back and gripped a chair back for support. Oh, it was a good plan. Very good. Probably good enough to save De Soto from any censure whatsoever from his superiors. De Soto was not popular with the men in higher magistracies, but no King's man could have too much sympathy for a people who championed an outlaw vigilante over their own representative from the King. He'd always known this alcalde was more dangerous than the last. Ramone would never have thought of this.   
  
"Congratulations," Alejandro said with a tight bow.   
  
De Soto's grin fell into the familiar sneer. "My thanks."  
  
"And so you plan on allowing this to continue? You do know that the leaders in the neighboring towns will not tolerate this forever, no matter how much they might sympathize with your Zorro problems."  
  
"How considerate of you to think of that. It is true that I felt obliged to step in recently-for the people's sake, however unappreciative they might be. Zorro, I must admit, did surprisingly well for a time in keeping our little troubles in check, but one man is not an army and even heroes can fail."  
  
Alejandro heard the reluctant admiration in the alcalde's tone but restrained his satisfaction. De Soto was looking far too pleased with himself.  
  
"So Zorro is spoiling all of your careful plans? How unfortunate for you."  
  
The smile returned. "Oh, no, Don Alejandro. I finally succumbed to the pleas of the people to protect them, and instituted martial law. In accordance, I ordered shot all outlaws entering the pueblo. It is perhaps unfortunate that the first such outlaw was Zorro himself, but the law is the law, as I am sure you will agree."  
  
Alejandro took a step forward and had to grab hold of the chair again just to keep his hand from grabbing De Soto's throat. "What are you saying?"  
  
"Zorro is dead, old man. There are going to be more than a few changes in this pueblo. I would think about gaining some respect for those changes if you don't want to end up back in a prison cell-more permanently this time."  
  
He turned and called for Mendoza.  
  
"Sergeant, Don Alejandro was just leaving for his hacienda. See that he has a proper escort, will you?"  
  
Mendoza looked between the both of them, a little concerned, but nodded and went out.  
  
De Soto smiled again and gestured for the door. "You had best be going to your hacienda. I am told a band of armed men caused you some minor losses a few days ago, nothing important, really. I'm sure a man like you would barely even feel such a loss. But I am keeping you and this is nothing your son doesn't know about."  
  
His tone held a hundred innuendoes, and the chuckle afterward was a thousand times worse than the smile had been.  
  
A tight fear had been growing in Alejandro's chest since Santa Paula, but he'd ignored it in favor of anger, so much more satisfying and useful an emotion. But now it surged again, and he couldn't entirely keep it from his face no matter what satisfaction De Soto might get from that.  
  
He went out into the yard to find Mendoza and a troupe of soldiers lingering.  
  
The emptiness of the plaza again struck him.  
  
"How could you let this happen?" he said, twirling on Mendoza. Anger again, but he needed it.  
  
Mendoza looked distraught. "Don Alejandro, I am so sorry . . . so very sorry."  
  
His normally hearty voice had faded into a pale echo of itself. Upon closer inspection, Alejandro noted the dark circles under the Sergeant's eyes and the looser fit of his uniform, but it didn't negate his responsibility in this. De Soto may be alcalde, but Mendoza was the soldiers' leader, and it was his job to protect to citizens of Los Angeles.  
  
"I do not want to hear it," Alejandro said, mounting up. He'd been hearing all to many excuses these past seven years. Diego, Mendoza, it was all the same. And now look where they were.  
  
"But, Don Alejandro . . ."  
  
"I said I do not wish to hear it."  
  
Alejandro pushed his horse forward and the Sergeant was forced to follow along. Alejandro pushed the horses faster than they ought to on such a hot day, but he needed to get home. The town was worse than he'd feared and the hacienda, away from the town's safety, could only be worse.  
  
Mendoza tried to speak again, but Alejandro just ignored him and strode across the yard to the door.  
  
"Leave my things. Someone will bring them. You may water the horses around back if you wish."  
  
Diego would chide him for his rudeness. Good. He was in the mood for a fight.  
  
The hacienda was dark and cool and at first glance nothing seemed out of place. Some of Alejandro's agitation faded, but not nearly enough.  
  
"Diego! Diego!"  
  
Footsteps came running, but it was only Maria.  
  
"Diego! Where _is_ the boy?"  
  
Maria opened her mouth, but he shook his head.  
  
"No, don't answer that. I probably know all too well."  
  
"But, Don Alejandro . . . "  
  
Too many people had said that today. He ignored her and pressed further into the house and, hearing men outside, out into the stable grounds.  
  
"Madre de Dios!"  
  
Alejandro turned, frowning already at this slight blasphemy.  
"Don Alejandro, forgive me, but it is very good to see you." Juan, his ranch manager, stood up from his seat in the shade of a tree and walked to greet him, accompanied by two of his men.  
  
Any censure Alejandro may have had died on his lips, replaced by a curse of his own.   
  
"What happened here?" Alejandro said, staring at Juan's arm hanging in its sling and the barely healed gash across his forehead. The ranch manager, a big and usually robust man, looked as if he'd aged ten-years in his absence.  
  
The two vaqueros who'd followed looked, if anything, even more exhausted than their leader.  
  
Someone careened into his side and wrapped two arms around him tight enough to crush the breath from him. It startled him momentarily from his contemplation of the men before him.  
  
Felipe released him just enough to start signing almost more rapidly than Alejandro could decipher.  
  
*I prayed and prayed you would come back, but I did not think it would happen. I tried to protect him, I tried, but he wouldn't listen. *  
  
"Felipe," he said, grabbing the boy's shoulder to stop his tirade. "You are not making any sense."  
  
Felipe swallowed, obviously trying to manage his emotions. He might have succeeded at it, if he hadn't been so clearly close to collapse himself. Alejandro frowned and looked toward the end of the hacienda where Diego was undoubtedly sleeping or reading or pursuing similar nonsense. Diego was ordinarily so protective of Felipe, and the two of them had seemed to share all the closeness Diego and Alejandro's relationship had recently lost. The thing above all others that Alejandro had admired in Diego had been what he'd done for Felipe, how he'd helped him overcome his handicap and encouraged him to not to let it hamper his goals. The situation here in the hacienda must be fairly serious for Diego to have allowed the boy to become so upset and yes, terrified. Yet another disappointment, if a quiet one.  
  
"I think I must talk to Diego. There are some things I think he has to answer."  
  
Felipe looked startled and stepped back. Surprise ruled his face for a moment, but switched with uncharacteristic swiftness into a rather formidable anger.  
  
*This isn't Diego's fault. Why do you always have to do that to him? *  
  
The fierceness of the boy's anger was surprising from someone ordinarily so easy.  
  
Alejandro sighed. Of course the boy would come to Diego's defense. He nearly always did. "I know you are protective of Diego, Felipe, and I admire you for it, but he has certain responsibilities, even if he would like to pretend otherwise."  
  
"Don Alejandro." Juan's voice was surprised and, if Alejandro were hearing correctly, more than a little angry though he hid it well.  
  
Alejandro turned.   
  
"Yes?" he said, trying to keep his voice civil, though he was not much used to being interrupted.  
  
Juan stood a little straighter, almost at attention. "Don Diego has been missing now for three days."  
  
He could not possibly have heard that right. "What do you mean missing?"  
  
Diego had a horrible sense of direction. He was probably just lost. That had to be what Juan meant. Diego couldn't be _missing_.  
  
Juan shook his head and twisted his face against a strong emotion. "I am sorry, Don Alejandro, you cannot know how much. Don Diego was with us on the daily inspection a few days ago when we were attacked on the trails. There were a lot of them, and they fought very hard. We were forced to retreat." Juan paused, swallowed. "After the fight . . . we, we only found Don Diego's horse. The men have been looking, but have found nothing in all of this time. The men who attacked us must have him. If he'd been . . . hurt, they would have left him."  
  
Hurt. Hurt meaning dead. Diego, dead.  
  
He'd been wrong earlier. He hadn't gone mad. Those men on the roads had killed him, only he was just now realizing it. For this was surely hell.   
  
"That's not possible. You have to be wrong. Diego is much too polite to associate with bandits."  
  
He was babbling, he knew it, but he could not stop. His mind could not wrap around such an idea.  
  
_Almighty God, in my arrogance I have earned this lesson, but my son has not. Please, not my son. Not my Diego._  
  
Juan was still talking. Why? What more could he possibly say than that Alejandro had a son three days ago, but now did not?  
  
He stared at his manager, trying to force some sense out of the sounds that refused to stop.  
  
"The men have been looking, every day, for signs of them, but the outlaws have not returned. De Carraco and Esperanza have received ransom notes, but we have heard nothing. I do not know what that means."  
  
"Wait, wait, just stop." He took a few steps back until the back of his knees hit a bench and he collapsed. He let his head fall forward and forced deep breaths into his lungs.  
  
Diego was not dead. To believe otherwise was a betrayal. Diego wouldn't do that to him, he wouldn't.  
  
_You already have Elena, Lord. Do you have to take Diego, too?_  
  
He felt Felipe sit beside him and wrap an arm around his shoulders. Wasn't that funny. The high and mighty Don Alejandro receiving comfort from a child. This was all too much. The attack on the road, the horrid state of the pueblo, De Soto's news of Zorro-wait, something De Soto had said . . .   
  
He had a sudden flash of the alcalde, that smug grin, the horrible little chuckle.  
  
_ . . . a band of armed men caused you some minor losses a few days ago, but nothing important . . . a man like you would barely even feel such a loss . . . nothing your son doesn't know about . . . _  
  
He _knew_. That bastard had _known_ and had not said anything, had let Alejandro ride off in a blissful tide of righteous anger.  
  
Yes, anger was effective. Use it.  
  
He clenched his hands on his knees and looked up.   
  
"Emanuel, I assume you know the details of the last few weeks?"  
  
"Why, yes, of course, Don Alejandro."  
  
Alejandro nodded. "Good, you can fill me in on the way. Juan, you must rest. I know we could badly use your help, but it is senseless to ignore wounds like that."  
  
Juan looked as if he might protest, an amazing event in and of itself, but then nodded, his face clearing.  
  
"Where are we going, Don Alejandro?" Emanuel asked, blinking.  
  
"To town. I think I have some questions for our esteemed alcalde." 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Author's Note: Yes, I know, three sections from me in two days. What can I say, it's Spring Break. The section after this is a last minute addition, though, and isn't anywhere near done, so I can't promise anything more until at least this weekend.   
  
And if any of this isn't working for y'all, please tell me. Nice feedback is like liquid inspiration, seriously, and I _adore_ getting it, but in theory I'm supposed to want to improve my writing, so the less positive stuff works, too. Plus, should I ever get around to finishing this story some time in this lifetime, I'll probably post it in one of the archives and it would be lovely to be able to edit it according to people's problems.   
  
* * * * *   
  
They did not, in the end, go to town directly. He would need information before dealing with De Soto. He sent a rider to his neighbor Don Ernesto first and then, as it was on the way to town, went to visit Donna Carla, the wife of Don Ciro Esperanza. Like her husband, she was proud, and it gave her the strength to receive Don Alejandro as if it were just another social call, as if her husband were not held captive and her lands not harassed by the outlaws. Don Alejandro, in turn, received what information she had and read the ransom note in kind, ignoring the growing coldness within him, forcing it behind the saving grace of social pleasantries.   
  
"One more thing, Don Alejandro," Donna Carla said as he went back out into the front yard to rejoin his men.  
  
He turned, bowed slightly in her direction. "Yes, Donna?"  
  
"If Ciro dies, though I am a woman and powerless, the alcalde shall pay for it."  
  
He bowed again, more deeply this time. "It has been many years since I have been a soldier, Donna Carla, but some lessons you do not forget. Should such tragedy come to pass, I hope you will call on me, if you find your own arm not strong enough."  
  
She nodded, but something in her face broke. He did her the courtesy of turning back to his horse.  
  
He heard her take a wet, struggling breath. "I was very sorry to hear about Diego, Don Alejandro. My husband has been occasionally outspoken in his criticism of your son, but I was always very fond of him. He would come and play for Consuela and I sometimes . . . his playing was so beautiful, and so very sad."  
  
Her voice weakened at the end and he could for the first time hear the unshed tears in it, but he could not turn around, could not face one frail, aging woman. It was too soon. He did not have the strength to think about Diego yet, could barely stand to have his name spoken. To think about him was to make it real and he had no way of comprehending, let alone dealing with the naked reality of his son's disappearance.  
  
Diego needed him right now. He could not afford to wonder what was happening, imagine what the outlaws might be doing to his pacifistic, well-mannered son who had no taste for violence.  
  
"Go, Alejandro," Donna Carla said, her voice a little stronger.  
He mounted up and tipped his head to her, carefully averting his eyes from what he might read in her face.  
  
By the time they reached the pueblo, he was more than ready to face De Soto. Don Alarico and Don Lazaro were standing outside the entrance to Victoria's tavern. They met his eyes and nodded solemnly. Don Ernesto had done his work well.  
  
He nodded in return and they disappeared into the tavern.  
  
That left the alcalde, but he could almost look forward to that.  
  
Mendoza looked so surprised to see him that he did not put up even token resistance as Alejandro strode past the duty desk and into the alcalde's office.  
  
De Soto was leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk. In one hand he held a glass of wine while the other casually tossed darts at a crude drawing of Zorro that had been tacked on the wall.   
  
His face darkened. "I thought I had told you, Don Alejandro, that without your masked bandit to protect you you had better be more careful."  
  
Alejandro didn't give him further time to react. The crystal glass made a pleasant crash as it smashed against the ground and De Soto made an even more satisfying thump as Alejandro shoved him into the wall.  
  
"I am here to discuss my son and what you are going to do to help me find him."  
  
De Soto tried to break free, but Alejandro would not move.   
  
"There are soldiers just outside this door."  
  
Alejandro could not help but smile, though it was an expression that had nothing to do with pleasure. "Diego is Mendoza's best friend. How much do you think the Sergeant is going to help you?"  
  
This time De Soto struggled harder and pulled himself free from Alejandro's grip. "Mendoza is not the only one of my soldiers and they are not all friends of the de la Vegas." The smile returned. "You will pay for this. You will lose your lands at the least, if not your life."  
Alejandro slammed him into wall again. "If my son is dead, how much do you think the loss of either will matter to me?"  
  
He dropped De Soto and took the barest step back.  
  
De Soto wasn't nearly afraid enough yet, but his face showed that now he knew perhaps he should be. He took a long breath and spent longer than necessary smoothing the fabric of his coat.  
  
"I can see that you are distraught, Don Alejandro. If you were to desist in this foolishness, I think I could find it within myself to forgive the actions of a worried father."  
  
Alejandro clenched his hands at his sides just to keep himself from launching himself at the alcalde again. "Diego always said you were intelligent, De Soto, but all I see now is a fool."  
  
De Soto took a steadying breath of his own. "Careful, Don Alejandro. There are limits to the lenience your understandable grief can buy you."  
  
Alejandro couldn't help but chuckle. De Soto was just so very, very wrong. "I am not _asking_ for lenience, alcalde. Has it not occurred to you how very much danger you are in?"  
  
De Soto laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. "I don't think I have much to fear from a crazy old man."  
  
"I wasn't _talking_ about me, though if it came to that, I think you might find I am not so old as that. We de la Vegas may only share distant kinship to His Majesty, but the King hasn't been known to look kindly on those who disregard his blood, no matter how distant the tie. And Esperanza is uncle to the largest landholder in southern Spain. I think his nephew, a good friend of Her Majesty, might have a few things to say about his uncle's disappearance-and the alcalde who did nothing about it."  
  
De Soto's eyes widened a little and Alejandro stepped closer to him again.  
  
"As you have so emphatically stated, alcalde," Alejandro said, "Zorro is dead. You will no longer be able to invoke his name as a protection against your superiors."  
  
De Soto was too practiced a politician to outwardly react to that, but Alejandro could see it impact him even so.  
  
"I think we understand each other, do we not?" Alejandro asked.  
  
De Soto nodded tightly. "Your arguments are compelling, Don Alejandro."  
  
Alejandro heard noises from the outer office and turned to go before the return of De Soto's soldiers stored up his courage.   
  
"Don Alejandro."  
  
Alejandro paused in the doorway and looked back.  
  
"You may have received what you came for, but do not think this day will be without repercussions."  
  
Alejandro nodded. He had never imagined otherwise. "And if anything has happened to Diego, do not hesitate to believe that I will use every influence I have to see that you share in those repercussions."  
  
De Soto inclined his head a little.   
  
Yes, they understood each other perfectly.  
  
Mendoza gave him a long apologetic look as Alejandro walked out beyond his desk, but he didn't say anything. Alejandro paused and took a deep calming breath. Diego would not want him to blame the Sergeant. The Lord knew that Mendoza suffered from the alcalde's rule more than anyone.  
  
"Sergeant Mendoza," Alejandro said, finding his refuge in formality. "I hold you accountable for much of what has happened since I left Los Angeles. I am aware that this is possibly unfair and that I perhaps owe you an apology for my behavior of earlier today."  
  
He could not, however, offer one, not even for Diego's sake.  
  
But Mendoza, as Alejandro had always suspected, was more perceptive than he looked.   
  
"I do not care what the alcalde says, Don Alejandro," he said, straightening. "The men and I have been talking. We are going to start searching for Don Diego and the others. I should have before now. Don Diego is my friend and I . . ."  
  
The Sergeant shook his head and wiped at his eyes with a handkerchief. Alejandro felt the first genuine smile of the day lightening his expression. The Sergeant was a sentimental man. Alejandro almost envied his ability to give in so publicly into his emotions.  
  
"I have no doubt that you will do what you can."  
  
Mendoza pulled himself up and gave Alejandro a curt nod. Alejandro left, feeling older and infinitely more weary now that his anger at the alcalde had been given vent. The shadows in the plaza were lengthening, reminding him that the day was reaching its close and he was no closer to finding his son, had only barely begun to look.  
  
_He will be all right. Juan is right. If anything had happened to him they would have abandoned him. Think on that._  
  
The men he'd asked Don Ernesto to gather were waiting for him in Victoria's tavern. The mood of the crowd, thin despite Alejandro's guests, was subdued, entirely unlike the usual boisterous dinner atmosphere.   
  
Don Hector stood and clasped Alejandro on both shoulders. "By the Virgin, it is good to see you, Alejandro. Now that you have returned, we can set things to right again."  
  
They all looked at him, joyful relief shining in all of their eyes. Did they all really expect him to save them? What did they expect him to do? He was not Zorro, not some hero to come riding out of the sunset and have the alcalde checked and the bandits in chains safely in time for supper. He felt a sudden unexpected sympathy for Zorro, who had, for so many years, borne the complacent expectations of the townspeople that he should always be there, that they need make no effort on their own to rescue themselves.  
  
Well, now Zorro was gone, probably dead, and where did that leave them?  
  
He'd been quiet for too long and the relief in the Dons' faces was beginning to die. He was angry, too tired to fight it. These were caballeros, men of wealth and influence, not defenseless peasants. If they'd worked together to fight the outlaws weeks ago, they wouldn't be here now.  
  
But now was no time for recriminations, and he needed these men.  
  
"Come friends," he said, trying to infuse welcome into his voice. "We have plans to make." 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

The meeting with the Dons lasted long into the night and when they left, so did the purpose that had been serving as Alejandro's substitute energy. Even ten years ago he would not have felt this weariness, but time was a thief that spared no one, not even soldiers who were cousin to Kings.

He looked over at Felipe, who had accompanied his men into town. The boy was lying on a bench, asleep, which was likely a blessing.

"Don Alejandro?" It was Victoria's voice, low and welcome.

He turned and looked up at her, not surprised to see her hesitant stance, wrapped in a heavy shawl, or the dark lines beneath her eyes.

He stood and offered a hand to her. "Victoria, my dear."

She accepted his embrace and he could feel her small frame shaking against him. But then she backed away and turned her head. He understood. She had always been so fiercely independent, so determined to be her own woman. So like his Elena, she was, though the comparison wasn't immediately obvious.

"Diego has to be all right, he has to be," she said. Her voice was rough, as if it had gone long unused. Perhaps it had. In the entire evening, he had seen only her kitchen help, not Victoria herself.

"The last time I saw him, I was so horrible to him." She still wasn't looking at him. "That can't be the end, I can't leave it like _that_."

That was something Alejandro understood all too well. "I am sure Diego understands that. He always does."

She shook her head violently. "Do you know, Zorro once suggested that I marry someone like Diego and I laughed. I _laughed_. I cannot understand that now."

Alejandro tried to take her shoulders again, but she shook him off.

"Victoria, this is useless. We have all had our misunderstandings with Diego. That cannot be helped. But it does no good for us to dwell on it now."

"It's all I have! Diego is gone and Zorro, Zorro is dead. He's dead."

There were tears streaming down her face now and she mouthed the name of her former lover again before collapsing into the nearest chair and giving in entirely to her sobs.

Alejandro watched for a moment, and could not help but hate her a little for grieving more for Zorro than for his son. Even in this, Diego had to come second.

Except wasn't he just as guilty? Had there not been countless times where he'd wished, sometimes to Diego's face, that he had a son who was just a bit more like the masked vigilante?

It was not Victoria's fault, any more than it had been Diego's that he was not more like the man she was crying for. If the rumors of Zorro's death could be believed, Victoria had been there when the alcalde had fired his shot, had seen the man she'd waited seven years to be with shot down. He had only had to deal with Diego's disappearance for less than one day, though it might seem a hundred. She had been here, alone, for over a week.

She was struggling against her tears. She would hate it, he knew, to break down like this in front of him. Diego would know what to do. Felipe even could handle this better. But he thought he understood her. They were not so unalike, the two of them.

She would need this. He remembered his anger after Elena had been taken from him, his helplessness. But he had had Diego to worry about, and the challenges of the ranch and his duty to his tenants to fill his days. She had no such purpose, nor any real memories like he shared with Elena to comfort when the night fell and you were left with nothing but regrets.

He sat beside her on the bench and pulled her against his side. She cried for a long while, but he said nothing. She stopped after a time and just leaned on him, drained.

"You should not be here alone," he said. "He would not want it."

"Yes, I know," she said, no fight left to her voice, "and I have been so useless. My staff has been running the tavern. They must think I have gone crazy."

"I think they might understand you better than that," he said, standing. They had stayed here too long. The night was late, and he was tired, and although it killed him, he must get some rest before the morning if he was to be of any use.

"Victoria," he said, "I would be honored if you would come to stay with us. It would help Felipe, I think, and I would welcome the company, too."

She smiled gently and stood beside him. Some of the dead look in her eyes had been replaced by flinty determination. "We are going to find him, Don Alejandro. You must believe that."

She sounded so sure of herself. He had no reason to believe her, but a part of him did.

_Yes, she is right. You have to believe in that._

"Come," he said. "Let us go home."


	18. Chapter Eighteen

It had been five days. In all that time Diego had seen no openings, not the slightest opportunity to escape.   
  
He knew his time was running out. The bandits had given them water and food each day, but never quite enough. Domingo knew his work well. The outlaws, thinking he was no one of consequence, hadn't been particularly gentle and it hadn't helped that Diego had often had to draw attention away from Esperanza's outraged impatience.  
  
The lack of proper food and water left them all weakened and dizzy. The wound in his side had become a constant dull fire as they rode across the uneven landscape hour after hour, day after day. Combined with the fierce sun overhead and what Diego was sure was a rising fever, his strength was in little supply.  
  
But as bad as he was, de Carraco was infinitely worse. The head injury he'd noticed on the first night had doubtless been accompanied by a concussion. De Carraco was an old man, older than his father and never as physically imposing. Today he had fallen into a stupor and lay, collapsed against Esperanza on the horse they shared.   
  
Domingo had wanted to tie Diego on this horse as well, but Esperanza, giant and well muscled despite his age, was much too large for the horse to bear much other than his weight. De Carraco, slight and elderly, had been the limit. And so Diego was given his own horse, though it was tied to the other.  
  
Diego tried to sit loosely in the saddle and grant his heavy limbs what rest they could find. The ropes binding his wrists had grown slack from neglect and he thought there was just the chance he might work his way free. His side heavily protested the attempt, but he forced it aside. This could very well be his only chance.  
  
Domingo rode up. Diego stilled and tried to look defeated. Domingo had been careful to watch him the entire five days, though today he gave Diego no more than a second glance.   
  
"The men have spotted a stream and we are going to refresh the water. You wait here and keep an eye on our guests."  
  
Three of Domingo's men nodded and formed a loose circle around Diego and the others as Domingo's company rode away.  
  
Diego tensed. He was not going to get a better chance than this.   
  
If the ropes would just give a little more. He twisted a little, putting his strength into it. He could feel the skin scraping raw, but, there, yes, just a little bit more and he would be . . .  
  
Free.  
  
The men were bored and didn't look on them as much of a threat. That and surprise were all he had.   
  
One of the men dismounted and went off into the brush to relieve himself.   
  
While the other two men's backs were turned, Diego whipped his hands from behind his back and brought them down as hard as he could manage on the back of the first one's head.   
  
The man slumped with a small cry. His friend turned as Diego kicked his horse forward. Its shoulder collided heavily with the other bandit's horse and the man lost his seat with a shout. He hit the ground heavily and was still.  
  
Diego sent the three bandits' horses scattering and then reached over and grabbed the reigns of Esperanza's horse. He pressed his heels hard into his horse's side and they galloped down the trail in the opposite direction from where Domingo and his men had gone.   
  
If he had been following their travels correctly, then they were on the ridge just a few miles west of town. So near, and yet the horse carrying the other two was clearly exhausted, not nearly capable of an all out race with the burden it carried.  
  
Diego heard the shout of the third bandit behind him, but they were, for the moment at least, keeping a good pace. They should have a few minutes at least before the third man caught one of the horses and set after them.  
  
Esperanza's horse stumbled and Diego swore silently. The horse was not going to make it. He had to think of something else.   
  
He looked at de Carraco and came to a quick decision. A jerk of the reigns brought the horses to a quick, sliding stop and he threw himself from the saddle.  
  
The rope tying the two horses together proved no trouble to free, but Esperanza's bonds were tighter than his own had been and his fingers were numb from lack of circulation.   
  
_Oh please God, just grant a moment more. A moment is all I need._  
  
"What are you _doing_?" Esperanza demanded. "We have to get away."  
  
"Your horse will never make it," Diego said, pulling on the final knot. "You must help me move Don Hernan to the other horse.   
  
Esperanza may have had many less than desirable qualities, but stupidity wasn't among them. Whatever he thought of Diego's plan, he wasted no time in getting off of the horse and moving his nearly unconscious friend to Diego's fresher mount.   
  
De Carraco stirred. "Where are we?"  
  
"We must hurry," Diego said, laying a comforting hand on de Carraco's leg. He looked at the horses again. Neither of them could possibly outrun Domingo's men, though Diego's looked at least to have the strength to make it into town. He was going to have to provide a distraction.  
  
He looked to his right. The ground rose sharply, almost vertically to the right. It wasn't passable by horse, but he could climb it. Or at least a month ago he could have.  
  
"You two must go," he said, making a quick decision. "I will try to go by foot. That way at least some of us will get to safety and can send men in return."  
  
"A coward to the last, de la Vega. You know they will follow the horses and you will get to safety," Esperanza said. "I always felt sorry for your father, that such a man as he should--"  
  
Diego grabbed his shirt and yanked him so they were face to face. "I do not have time for this. Now get on the horse."  
  
Esperanza blinked, but did as he was told. De Carraco looked at Diego, the sharp embankment and then back up the trail.  
  
"Diego, don't do this," de Carraco said, his drawn face tense with anxiety. "They won't forgive you for it."  
  
Understanding dawned on Esperanza's face along with something like fear, though it wasn't for himself.  
  
"I am only doing what I must. Tell my father I am sorry. Now, go!" Diego said, slapped the horse sharply to take the decision out of their hands. Esperanza looked back over his shoulder, but then took the reigns and kicked the horse into a faster pace. Diego fought the temptation to watch them and pulled himself painfully up the hill and onto a large rock that overhung the path.   
  
Only seconds later the third bandit came racing down the path. Diego launched himself from the rock and hit the man solidly. They both fell from the saddle, but Diego rolled the bandit beneath him and tumbled on hitting the ground to diffuse the impact. Usually, it allowed him to roll to his feet, unharmed, but this time his side hit the ground hard and he felt a sharp debilitating pain stab through him. The bandit didn't move and Diego knew he should get away, already heard horses above on the trail, but his trembling arms wouldn't raise him any farther than to his knees.  
  
He knew there was little point in running at this point, knew how much satisfaction it would give Domingo to watch him try and fail. But he also knew what was coming when they did catch up to him, and that thought gave him the strength at last to reach his feet and pull himself into the saddle of the bandit's horse.  
  
A bullet whizzed over his head as he leaned over the horse's neck and kicked it into motion. The beast was in better condition than the one Esperanza and de Carraco had ridden, and jumped into a fast pace over the uneven trail.  
  
A second bullet followed the first, and Diego had to thank the twists in the winding trail and the thick cover of the forest that screened him from a direct shot from behind. He leaned even closer into the sweaty neck of his horse and pressed his heels deeper, but the horse was already running full out.   
  
The trail straightened out and the forest around them thinned as they began to reach open fields. It meant they were nearing town and safety, but also that he was about to lose his cover.  
  
He heard a shout much too close behind and twisted in the saddle enough to spot the lead pursuer no more than a few dozen yards behind. Shots rang out again, ripping through the leaves with the sound of hard rain. One plucked forcefully at his sleeve and he flattened himself further.   
  
He heard the distinctive sound of a bullet hitting flesh and then his horse screamed and reared. He reached with the hand that had been clutching his side to grab more firmly to the reigns, but the horse was out of control beneath him, and his clutch and the sweat soaked leather was too weak. The horse began to fall over backward, and he gathered his legs beneath him with the last of his strength and leapt clear before its killing weight fell on top of him. He tried to control the landing in a roll, but he'd been too unbalanced, too unprepared, and he came to a hard stop against a large tree.  
  
Domingo's men rode up around him, their horses panting and wet with foam.  
  
He spotted Domingo and lunged for a nearby rock in a last ditch effort at resistance. As his fingers closed around the impromptu weapon, the sharp crack of a whip broke through the air and he felt a hard, heavy pain in his upper arm.   
  
"I would not try that again," Domingo said, holding up the heavy bull-whip.   
  
Diego dropped his hand from where he'd instinctively clapped it on his shoulder. The fingers came away lightly smeared in blood, but he didn't think, looking at the hard faces of the men around him, that it was going to much matter.  
  
Two men dismounted and hauled Diego roughly to his feet, though he showed no signs of resistance.  
  
"I knew you were trouble the moment you showed up in my camp," Domingo said. "I should have killed you then. It isn't a mistake I'll repeat."  
  
"Domingo, the others are getting away," one of the others called.  
  
"The others have gotten away," Domingo said, not taking his eyes off Diego. "Our little hero has taken care of that. We are too close to town to afford to chase them with the kind of lead they must have and he knows it."  
  
Relief hit him strong enough almost to make him forget his own situation. They were free. They were going to escape.  
  
"I wouldn't look so happy if I were you, hero," Domingo said. "Their freedom has bought you your death."  
  
He rode over and kicked Diego hard on the side of his head. Diego spun with the force of it and dropped to his knees. The two men grabbed his shoulders again and yanked him back to face Domingo.  
  
"If I had the time, I would make this last, cow herder, but I am afraid we can't afford that."  
  
Domingo opened his pistol and reloaded it with care. Watching this proceed, Diego was finally hit with the idea that this was going to happen. There was no Toronado nor Felipe waiting in the bushes, no last minute plan to leave an opening. His blood hammered with disorienting speed through his veins and the world spun a little. He forced himself to kneel straighter and to control his breathing, to face this end as his father might.  
  
"A man of your type deserves a more imaginative end, but a bullet in the head like a common thief is all I can spare you." Domingo grinned, quick and feral. "Maybe I do like this death for you, after all."  
  
As he raised the pistol and the black mouth of it swung around to face Diego, everything seemed like it was frozen. Even the motion of the gun was slowed, and the moment stretched out into near forever.  
  
The sharp distinctive crack of a rifle broke the frozen silence of the moment, and Domingo swung the gun around down the trail.  
  
"Drop your weapons," De Soto's voice came from somewhere deeper in the trees.  
  
"I will shoot him," Domingo said, aiming at Diego once again.   
  
"Go ahead," De Soto said. "It will give me all the excuse I need to shoot you and your men here as you stand."  
  
"You traitor!" one of Domingo's men shouted. "We had a bar-"  
  
The loud fire of Domingo's pistol cut off the man's words as the bandit leader swung around and shot him.  
  
"A wise decision," De Soto said. "Certain things are too dangerous to be aired in public. Now, I have already asked you to drop your weapons. I will not ask again."  
  
Domingo pointed his weapon at Diego again, his face transformed with hatred. The barrel lowered and then raised again and then Domingo threw it aside with an animalistic snarl. The tension snapped like a tightly drawn string, and his men threw down their weapons as well.  
  
De Soto and a group of his soldiers rode out of the forest. Their horses looked as if they'd had a hard run, but were not overly stressed. Diego wondered just how long DeSoto had been waiting there, before he'd spoken, and just whose bullet had it been that had betrayed his presence.  
  
"Well, Don Diego," the alcalde said, looking down at Diego with no small amount of annoyance, "found at last, it seems."  
  
Author's Note: Well, I apologize for the delay in posting this. The story seemed to fall entirely off track for me somewhere along the way, and I fear any tension I may have built up has been entirely lost in these last few scenes. I meant to write more with Diego and the bandits, but I felt it was dragging too long and it was about time he got himself rescued. Originally there was to be more between Alejandro and De Soto leading up to this, but it just wasn't working even in my head, let alone actually written down. So, the story is going in yet another unplanned direction. However, I was able to write some on the story this weekend, so I hope to have more for you by next weekend. 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

  


Diego leaned back against the tree, pulling the blanket Mendoza had offered more tightly around himself. The demands of his much abused body were making themselves known, but there was a curious distance to the sensation. He knew he should clean the new welt in his shoulder before it had a chance to become infected, as surely the bullet wound in his side now was. He should get up, force the lassitude from his numbing limbs, see if he could not find some medical supplies in the soldiers' supplies. But he could barely lift his head from the supporting trunk behind it, and when he blinked his eyes and strained as hard as he could, he could not force the blurred whorl before him to resolve into one image, or even two.   


He closed his eyes and rested his head again. He was aware of the dangers, particularly after that last kick to the head from Domingo, but he was so very tired. Now that the bandits were rounded up and Esperanza and de Carraco had apparently found safety, he was robbed of the responsibilities that had acted as a substitute for strength for the last few days. Without that pressure, surely no one would mind, or even notice, if he just rested for a moment?   


Oh, but there was still Felipe, who surely was going crazy by now, and his father's people, left on their own for so many days, and Victoria and the entire pueblo besides. Zorro had been missing now for ten days, and who knew what had gone on in his absence?   


He blinked harder and forced himself to sit up, though that was as far as he could make it. When the alcade's soldiers had finally ridden out of the trees to round up Domingo and his men, he had been unable to crawl any farther than the few feet to the nearest tree. The alcalde and not a few of Domingo's men had sneered at this, but Diego didn't care. It was no better than anyone might expect of Alejandro de la Vega's slightly embarrassing, bookish son. And that was all to the good, wasn't it?   


He swallowed, trying to work up some moisture in his dry throat. A little of the soldiers' water would do him no end of good, but when Mendoza had moved to offer his canteen as well as the blanket, De Soto had spoken sharply and ordered him back to the others.   


It was clear that if anyone was going to help him it was going to have to be himself. He steadied himself against the rough bark of the tree and then laboriously first pushed himself onto one knee. He closed his eyes and panted against the wave of illness that assaulted him and then pushed himself the rest of the way to his feet. He leaned as much of his weight as he could against the tree and pressed a hand firmly against his stomach as the nausea rose again. He had dealt with concussions before, even fought with them. He could handle this, too.   


"I must say, de la Vega," De Soto said from somewhere not far away. "I found it curious that two old men could escape these outlaws whereas you could not, but looking at you, I wonder how I ever could have been surprised."   


"De la Vega!" Domingo yelled. "He is a de la Vega?"   


Diego clenched the fist hidden under the blanket. Aversion to killing or no, he could cheerfully have strangled De Soto just then.   


"Why, yes," the alcalde said, "I know he doesn't much look like one, but he certainly is irritating enough."   


Diego finally did open his eyes and forced them to focus on Domingo where the soldiers were struggling to get him in chains not far away. The bandit leader's eyes were filling with terrible realization, followed by furious hatred.   


"I will kill you for this, cow herder," Domingo hissed. Diego met his eyes as clearly as he could, reading the danger there. He himself knew better than any how easy it was to escape the alcalde's clutches, and Domingo meant to make good that promise. He held the outlaw's eyes for a moment more, but then the two soldiers beside Domingo finally managed to wrestle his arms into the chains and yank him into the cart holding his fellows.   


Diego turned to De Soto. Despite his actions, the alcalde was not a stupid man, and he very well may have observed too much in that exchange. De Soto, however, was looking only bemusedly satisfied. He'd clearly noticed _something_, but with typical lack of foresight, as long as it was clearly causing Domingo discomfort, he was apparently willing to accept it.   


"We are about to leave," De Soto said. "You don't look quite well enough to keep to a horse, not that you ever show much skill for it. Perhaps you'd like to share your new friends' transport?"   


De Soto grinned and nodded his head towards the cart where the soldiers were still loading Domingo's men.   


De Soto might even be right there, but Diego didn't think it wise to get that close to Domingo. You didn't need your hands free to cause serious harm, and he didn't think it would precisely displease De Soto for Domingo to have the opportunity to make good on his threat. Others beside Zorro had earned the alcalde's hatred over the years, his father more than most.   


"I will help Diego," Menoza said, hurrying over and taking his arm.   


"I told you to watch the men," De Soto said, gleeful satisfaction fleeing his face.   


"They know what they are doing," Mendoza said with truly shocking vehemence. "Don Diego can ride behind Julio."   


De Soto's face darkened and he opened his mouth to respond, but then whirled back towards the trail. Mendoza tensed as well and Diego belatedly noticed the sound of approaching horses.   


Oh, blessed Jesu, this was the last thing he needed right now. If this were another pack of bandits, even the alcalde's soldiers, occupied with Domingo's men, were ill prepared to meet it.   


He tensed and tried to draw himself up further, but then the first horse came through the trees. Was that Juan? It could not possibly . . . he squinted, trying to force his uncooperative vision to resolve the fuzzy shapes more clearly.   


But it clearly _was_ Juan. Beyond him rode Felipe and others of the de la Vega men. And at last, against all odds, was his father.   


Alejandro pushed his clearly exhausted horse forward through his men and stopped a few yards from the alcalde. He drew himself up, a fierce, erect figure, and looked down at De Soto.   


Diego tried to match his stance, to be _for once_ the son his father wanted. De Soto looked so triumphant, glaring up at Alejandro.   


"As you can see, Don Alejandro," De Soto said, "I have rescued your son for you."   


Something passed between the alcalde and Alejandro that Diego didn't entirely recognize but fiercely wanted to deny. Then Alejandro broke De Soto's gaze and looked to Diego instead.   


"Buenas Dias, Father," Diego said, trying to look suitably apologetic. His father looked at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head.   


"I am afraid I am not returning him in the best condition," De Soto said.   


"It is little enough to be troubled with," Diego said, plastering his best unconcerned smile on his face. It was more of a line for Zorro than Diego de la Vega, but he needed to be able to salvage _something_. He'd wanted little more than his father's return for weeks. Returned he had, only to find the lands and people he'd only reluctantly left to his son's care in chaos and that that same son had gotten himself dragged off by bandits and even worse, rescued by the alcalde he so hated. Usually Alejandro's disapproval fell on Diego's assumed persona and not himself, but he did not have that excuse here. This was his doing, alone.   


For some reason his father flinched and shook his head. "Can you ride?" he asked softly.   


"Of course," Diego said, with far, far more confidence than he felt. He shook off Mendoza's arm and managed to close most of the distance between himself and his father before his strength fled him completely and he fell hard on one knee.   


Oh, God, not here, not _now_. He'd gotten through so many trials these last few weeks: the bandits, the alcalde's unknown plans, even the bullet wound and his capture, why must his strength finally fail here? He tried to push himself back up again, but he didn't raise himself more than a few inches before he fell again on both knees this time. He would have toppled forward except all of a sudden, his father was there on the dirt beside him, catching and holding him with all of that resolute strength he remembered from earliest childhood.   


"Diego," he father whispered hoarsely, gripping both sides of his head and then kissing both cheeks before backing away to inspect him better. "Oh, Diego, what has happened to you?"   


Diego blinked and swayed again, but his father just pulled him in close, gently but firmly against him, pressing his head into his shoulder.   


"Father," Diego said, horrified, "the alcalde . . . " It was just so very wrong that a man of such fierce dignity as Alejandro de la Vega should be kneeling in the dust and forest litter before such a man as the alcalde. He could _feel_ De Soto's pleasure even from here. He tried to push away, to pull on his father's shoulders, but the movement had no force behind it.   


"That's the last thing that matters right now," Alejandro said gently, holding more firmly when Diego began to protest again.   


It felt good and so very unfamiliar to be forced to rely on someone else's support for once. Addictive even, and that was dangerous. The unrelenting strength in his father's arms was the only thing that was keeping Diego from falling on his face, but Diego could feel minute shivers in them. He pulled back just slightly to look at his father, but the older de la Vega only had a soft unreadable expression on his face.   


Felipe was kneeling just a few inches away, and Alejandro relented enough to allow him to help lift Diego to his feet. Alejandro wrapped an arm under his shoulders and mostly carried him to a nearby fallen log where he could sit more comfortably. He reached a hand to touch the sticky smear of blood on Diego's temple from Domingo's kick and then squeezed Diego's shoulder. Felipe sat beside him on the log and clutched at him as if he feared he was going to disappear any moment.   


Juan produced a canteen. Felipe snatched it and helped Diego to drink from it.   


"Careful," Alejandro said, "you will make him sick."   


He watched as Diego took careful sips, struggling not to gulp it down.   


Then Alejandro spun around to face the alcalde again.   


"He should have been taken to the doctor."   


De Soto cocked an eyebrow. "My men have been engaged in rounding up these unfortunate outlaws."   


"I am well enough, Father," Diego said, "please don't- "   


Felipe stopped him with a hand on his arm and a shake of his head.   


Alejandro's fists clenched and Diego could see him struggling to maintain his anger even from behind. "Alcalde," he said finally, making the word the title it should be rather than the implied insult it generally was, "I owe you for the life of my son and that is a debt I can never repay even if I gave my life over to the effort. Please excuse us before I say something which I must later regret."   


De Soto gave a little smile and inclined his head.   


No, no, no, no. This was not his father's debt.   


Alejandro turned back to Diego and Felipe, taking the canteen to clean the crusting blood from Diego's face.   


"Father," Diego said lowly, quickly, "this is my doing. If there is a debt to be repaid--"   


"Shh," Alejandro said, laying a hand along the side of Diego's face. "This is between De Soto and I."   


He stepped back and gave Diego an appraising look. Diego clutched the ends of the blanket tighter around himself, determined to keep the more serious injuries. Alejandro noted the movement and shook his head, but otherwise let it pass.   


"I need to know if you truly can ride," he said, giving Diego his sternest look.   


Diego smiled a little ruefully. "Yes, I think . . . with help."   


"Are we going into town?" Juan asked.   


"It would probably be the wiser course," Alejandro said, not taking his eyes off of Diego, "but I would feel better taking Diego home, where he belongs."   


Diego blinked, not expecting such a sentiment from his father, or at least not one so publicly expressed. For the first time he noticed the deep lines of weariness in his father's face, matching those in the men around him. He turned to Felipe, noticing the black marks of sleeplessness around the young man's eyes. Felipe bit his lip and turned his head away.   


*We were beginning to think we would not find you.*   


He was being incredibly selfish it seemed.   


"Juan," he said, the sling on the foreman's arm sparking a sudden worry, "are you all right? I thought I saw you take an injury in that fight."   


He fell off at Juan and his father's surprised expressions and Felipe's startling glare.   


Clearly they were angry with him for some reason, but he couldn't quite follow it. Everything was becoming so hazy again, and the sunlight seemed so very bright all of a sudden.   


Felipe shook him, sending small flares of pain through wounded tissues, but even that seemed fuzzy, indistinct.   


"I think we must fetch a cart," Juan voice came through his disorientation.   


"It will take too long," Diego forced out. "I can manage. I will have to."   


Unexpectedly, his father came to his aid.   


"Diego is right. Here, Felipe, get on your horse. Diego can ride with you and Juan and I beside."   


Felipe leapt up and Alejandro took Diego's shoulder to steady him. Alejandro and Juan had to pretty much lift Diego into the saddle, though he helped as much as he could. The alcalde and a few of the soldiers smirked a little at seeing a de la Vega thus, but Diego could not really bring himself to care. The dizziness was once again rising in waves, and he had little enough energy just for keeping in the saddle.   


"De la Vega!" Domingo shouted as Alejandro began to move out. The caravan stopped and Diego lifted his head to meet the outlaw's challenge. "They will be speaking of the death I shall give you for years. I promise you that. I swear it on my father's grave."   


Diego nodded solemnly, not wanting to show any more weakness than he had to here, no matter what the gesture might be giving away to the other witnesses here.   


"Come," Alejandro said, pushing his horse between Diego and Domingo. "Let us go home."   


  



	20. Chapter Twenty

  


Author's note: This is for Your Worshipfullness, since you asked so nicely, and Nayvera, because you rock. Just a short little chapter, really. I think I have been reading a little too much 19th century British literature, and I fear it has influenced my fanfic writing a little too much towards the melodramatic, just to warn you. But I was blocked on this story for so long, I thought I better go where my writing wanted to take me, even if it is a smidge over the top.   


Also? I think we've all noticed by now that my Spanish is less than good (thanks so much to everyone who's tried to help me out, I'm just a bit useless in that area, I fear.) I've used the word "niño" as something Alejandro might call Diego when he was younger, which I am fairly certain is not correct, but extensive Google searching didn't provide me anything better, so I went with it. If anyone has any better suggestions, I'd love to hear them.   


Well, I'm sure y'all are all beyond tired of the meta-ness at the beginning of all of these chapters, so why don't we get to the story.   


Chapter Twenty.   


  


The ride home was worse even than the last had been, when he'd been half-unconscious, his life's blood spilling over Toronado's saddle. If he hadn't so determined to get out of the alcalde's increasingly suspicious gaze, he might have waited for the cart. By the time they'd traveled even half-way home, he was leaning entirely on Felipe, breathing heavily.   


His father hissed and reigned up beside them. "You are a fool for doing this to yourself, Diego, and I, even worse a one for letting you. We could have waited for the damn cart, or figured out _something_.   


"Why did you have to choose _now_ all of a sudden to be so stubborn?"   


Diego had to smile a little at that.   


His father sighed. "You know, fathers often say we wish our sons to be like us, but I don't think anyone actually means it." He paused, looking at Diego in clear worry. "You usually show more sense than this."   


"I'll manage," Diego said, forcing more strength into his voice than he actually felt. He stopped, gripping Felipe a little more tightly as the horse seemed to sway beneath him. "I think, though, we should be getting along."   


Alejandro swore lightly under his breath, but then picked up the pace again.   


Diego only realized that they'd finally reached the hacienda when the nauseating rhythm of the horse beneath him came to a stop and two pairs of hands reached up to lift him from the saddle. The blanket finally fell from his nerveless grasp and he nearly fainted again when his feet touched the ground.   


"Santa Maria, Madre de Dios," whispered Juan fervently.   


"Diego," Alejandro said, face going bloodless beneath the tan, "you should have told us it was this bad. Why in God's name did you not say something?" He shook his head. "I should never have let you get on that horse."   


Diego tried to stand on his own, but his legs were not responding. The blood was pounding with agonizing fierceness in his head, and everything began to swirl again.   


"Juan," his father said, "I know you are tired, but I must ask you and the men to go into town and fetch Dr. Hernandez immediately."   


Juan disappeared from his side to be replaced by Felipe.   


Diego barely noticed the worried faces of the servants as Felipe and his father helped him to stumble into his room.   


"Felipe," his father said, sitting Diego on the bed, "will you fetch whatever of Diego's medicines that you know how to use and some of those bandages Diego prepares for the doctor?"   


Diego tried to take a few deep breaths. Felipe could not manage this alone and there was too much his father might notice.   


"Felipe and I will manage. I just need to rest for a moment." He just needed to lie down for just a little while. Then he'd get up and deal with this somehow. He just wanted a moment's sleep. He knew he couldn't afford much. The pile of things that had needed his attention before must have tripled in his absence.   


"Diego," his father said lowly.   


"No, really, Felipe knows quite a bit by now."   


His father gripped his shaking arm when he reached to pull himself off the bed again and then pulled him against him again, this time infinitely gently.   


"But I have to," Diego said, no longer entirely sure what he had to do, only knowing it must be something. "You have to let me up."   


"Shhh," his father said, gripping a little more tightly until his moment of panic passed. "It's all right now. You are found, safe, the Blessed Savior has returned you to us."   


His father's voice was thick, and his hands were shaking a little where they ran over Diego's back. He held Diego firmly for a moment before releasing him. When he pushed Diego to lie on the bed, Diego could see a few tears running down his face. His father never cried, never.   


"What is it?" he asked, pushing himself onto one elbow.   


Alejandro shook his head. "That you could even ask me that."   


He lowered his head and then bent to pull off Diego's dust caked boots.   


"But, Father, the bed," Diego said.   


For some reason, some of the worry fled Alejandro's face and he even smiled a little.   


"I will buy you a new one, if it will make you happy. I will buy a hundred."   


He moved the pull open the remains of Diego's shirt, pushing aside Diego's hand when he half tried again to delay him.   


"Oh, niño," Alejandro said, running his fingers lightly over the wound in his side. "You should have told us."   


Felipe returned and sat beside Diego on the bed, taking his hand. Diego gripped it slightly.   


Alejandro took the bowl of water that Felipe had brought and wiped Diego's face again, cooling the burning skin.   


Alejandro laid a hand on his forehead and frowned. "Where is Juan with the doctor?" he said, half to himself.   


"There should be some willow bark there, and boneset, I think," Diego said, trying to focus, trying to remember what they had left after treating the bullet wound. He would have to ride out to the reservation as soon as possible.   


"Shh," Alejandro said, laying a hand over Diego's eyes, "you must let us worry about things now. You have to rest."   


Diego left his eyes closed and sank into the bed a little. He gasped a little when his father had to press on his side with the cloth to clean it, but everything was fading away.   


"Diego?" his father said, shaking him a little. "Diego, I know it is hard, but you must stay awake until the doctor arrives."   


He blinked and opened his eyes again, but they fell shut almost immediately.   


"Diego? Diego!" he heard his father nearly shouting, but it just seemed so far away, and then it was gone.   


  


  



	21. Chapter TwentyOne

Author's Note: I'm posting this a few days early, just because all of you have been so great. Thanks for the lovely feedback! It is very encouraging. This scene could use something, I'm afraid, but I have seriously re-written every scene I've posted recently at least twice from scratch and entirely thrown away at least four, so I decided finally just to go with it. I seem to have problems settling on the proper POV these days. Diego's is, for obvious reasons, not available at the moment, but I wanted to write another Felipe scene, and it just wasn't in any way working. I'll try to write at least one before the end, but I am trying to cut down on the number of scenes to see if I can maybe inject some life into this story.   


I have been writing a lot lately, inspired in no small part by Icyfire's new fic (yay! New Icyfire!) so I hope to have more by the weekend.   


* * * * *   


  


Alejandro sat in the chair by Diego's bed, waiting for Doctor Hernandez to return from cleaning up. Felipe was curled up on the bed before him, one hand lightly wrapped around Diego's arm where it lay above the blanket. He was able to take some comfort in the sight; the boy had been near the point of collapse from worried exhaustion and the rest would do him good.   


Unfortunately, he could not seek the same relief. The same approach of old age that had robbed his body of strength had also taken his ability to so easily seek that oblivion. It would be a welcome respite from the chaos of his thoughts.   


_God has returned your son to you. That should be enough for you, more than enough._   


  


Indeed, twenty-four hours ago he would have given over all he owned and borrowed whatever his name and friendships could buy him for that much. But now that Diego was lying there before him . . .   


Yes, but now. He could barely recognize his refined, stable son in the haggard, damaged man lying on the bed with the dark snarl of five-days' growth of beard, tangled, unkempt hair and bruised eyes. This was a man who'd been pushed to his limit time and again and survived it, a man who could survive five days as the captive of murderers, not a man who spent his time in books or behind a canvas.   


"Don Alejandro?"   


He turned to find Doctor Hernandez standing in the doorway.   


"Yes?" he said, painting a welcome smile on his face for politeness sake.   


The doctor crossed the room to stand by Diego. He laid a hand on his forehead to test the strength of his fever and then re-checked the fitting of the bandages on his upper arm with uncharacteristic fussiness.   


"Doctor Hernandez?"   


The doctor nodded and pulled the blankets back up to rest smoothly. He settled himself into the chair beside Alejandro, not taking his eyes off of his patient.   


"I must be honest, Don Alejandro," he said. "His condition is quite serious."   


Alejandro absorbed this in silence, waiting for the doctor to continue. When the doctor had arrived, he'd spared no time but for dealing with Diego's immediate physical injuries. Repercussions and relatives came later. It was something Alejandro admired in a medical man, but now it was later, and all of a sudden there was time in spades: time for Hernandez's pronouncements, time to think about what they might mean, time in which he was going, somehow, to have to deal with all of this.   


"While most of his injuries are largely superficial and likely to cause him more pain than real alarm, I am afraid the wound in his side is another matter entirely," Hernandez said.   


The doctor finally tore himself from his consideration of Diego to deal with Alejandro directly. "It is clearly from a bullet."   


"Yes." Alejandro was a veteran of too many battle fields not to have recognized that immediately, though that experience did little to help him deal with it. Someone had shot his son, his Diego, and it was no light graze either. The shot that had made that wound had been unmistakably aimed to kill. Which meant someone had taken up a firearm with the full intention of leaving his son dead. What the implications of that precisely were he had not allowed himself to think upon, though he knew the time would come when he would have to.   


The doctor paused, uncertainly flooding him. "Without knowing the other circumstances, I would have said, looking at an injury like that, that it was older than five days. A week at least."   


Alejandro let the doctor go on, though this was a conclusion he'd come to almost immediately. A wound like that would have bled profusely and Diego's shirt, though torn and dirty, had shown no signs of that. The wound itself looked only half-healed and angry, like something serious that had been prevented from healing time and again by repeated abuse.   


"And yet," Hernandez was saying, "if he had received an earlier injury, certainly I would have been called, and if he was hurt, I do not understand what he was doing riding out that day when he was attacked by the men whom the alcalde arrested today."   


That made two of them. He and Felipe were going to have a little discussion when he woke up. Over the last two days he had encountered nothing but mystery after mystery, and he was beginning to be a little angry at having found no answers. As much as he'd been expecting it, he had been surprised at finding his son so very . . . battered. Old bruises and new covered most of his torso, along with scratches and minor wounds scattered across a frame that held far more strength than Diego's retiring life style could explain. That bullet wound wasn't the only injury that was clearly more than five days old. He'd met soldiers with fewer scars.   


"Alejandro," Hernandez said, frowning, "if there is anything you know about any of this, I think I need to hear it if I am to understand his injuries properly."   


"Why should I know anything? I am only his father," Alejandro said, not entirely able to keep his tone at its most polite.   


But the doctor, who had two daughters of his own, only shook his head. "The fever is what really has me concerned. The bullet wound is less seriously infected than what I would expect of one received on the trail, if that is indeed where he was hurt, but as weakened as he is, it is still very dangerous. The blows he received to the head are bad enough, and combined with the fever and his general condition, well, Alejandro, I think you must prepare yourself."   


Alejandro turned his head slightly away. "You are afraid he won't wake up."   


"I do not like to say at this point," Hernanez said, careful as ever. "If he wakes within the next day, I would say his chances are good."   


"And if not?"   


The doctor's silence was a better answer than words might have been.   


"Diego has surprised me before," Hernandez said, considering Diego and then Alejandro for a moment. "He has been a strength for your people, these last few weeks, much to the detriment of himself, I fear. You would have been proud of him, I think."   


Alejandro nodded, as it was expected of him. Over the last few days people had kept reassuring him of that more than anything else. Did they think he didn't know that? Did they think he didn't realize how fortunate he was? Of course he was proud of his son, he always had been. He just didn't _understand_ him, and he felt as if he were constantly being prevented from doing so. It was precisely _because_ he sensed so much in his son that he was never allowed to see that he pushed him so hard. Could no one see that?   


"I have done all that I might for him at the moment," the doctor said, "though, with your permission, I would like to stay here tonight so that I might check on him in the morning.   


"I owe you far more than the hospitality of my home, Doctor," Alejandro said. "Maria will bring you whatever you need. And my men will escort you wherever you wish in the morning. I know Diego is not your only concern in these days of trouble."   


Hernandez sighed and rubbed his hand across his tired eyes. "I am afraid not. Hernan de Carraco is, I fear, in even worse shape than Diego. I think, if not for Diego, he would not have survived his captivity."   


There was a story there, one Alejandro had heard only snatches of that afternoon when the news from the pueblo had sent him and his men racing after Diego's trail. But it was a story that would have to wait until later.   


The doctor rose. "Diego . . . he has been a good friend to me. It is so rare to find someone with whom to discuss my work and the latest research." Hernandez paused to smile in a somewhat avuncular manner at Diego, though the smile was tinged with regret. "If there is a way my skills can do anything for him, you can be sure I will find it. He is the last person to deserve this."   


"My thanks, Doctor," Alejandro said. "I know I should protest at least for decorum's sake, but I find myself far too selfish for that."   


"You are a father. I understand that," Hernandez said. He made polite goodnights after checking on his patient one last time, leaving Alejandro alone with the stranger who was lying in his son's bed.   


He'd put so much energy into simply finding Diego, and hearing of Esperanza and de Carraco's escape that afternoon with their news of Diego had been one of life's miracles. But other than the unalloyed joy in seeing his son alive again, everything else was filled with so much confusion.   


It seemed impossible that any of the stories everyone from Juan Garcia to his fellow Dons had been telling him could have anything to do with Diego. Yet there he was at the center of all of them, providing stability, giving good advice, _actually riding out with the vaqueros every morning_.   


There was nothing of his Diego to recognize in these stories, and even less in the man they'd found that afternoon. That man had certainly mouthed the usual pleasantries. He'd been so studiously correct in them that it had almost seemed a horrific comedy. There Diego had stood, blood covering a full quarter of his face, speaking as if having spent five days as the captive of bandits was no more extraordinary than a Sunday picnic. No need for drama, no need for anyone to be concerned at all. And what was worse was that he'd acted as if this sort of behavior was what Alejandro _expected_ of him. As if Alejandro could care about his dignity or De Soto's opinion of anything in such a moment. And there had been such a tide of bitterness beneath that careful correctness that was so unlike the benign, imperturbably pleasant son he knew.   


The son he knew didn't calmly accept threats of death from clearly dangerous men and then simply nod as if he understood exactly what they meant. The son he knew took to bed for day at the slightest sign of a headache. He certainly didn't disguise life-threatening injuries and then hop on a horse and ride for several miles over rough country until he'd driven himself delirious.   


There was too much for him to think through now, and he thought the only people with any real answers to his increasing questions were lying asleep on that bed. Tomorrow would hold time for revelations.   


He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out Elena's simple rosary, his constant companion these many long years since her death.   


"Help me to find what is right for our son," he said, fingering the jet beads.   


_He is here, alive. Rest on that. Abide on that._   


His fingers found the cross, and he began the prayers, one by one. The night grew late, and finding Diego had not magically solved all of his problems as he thought it would, but if he could not find peace in his head, he could, in this old, familiar ritual, find a type of solace with her and with his God.   


  



	22. Chapter TwentyTwo

Author's Notes: As several of you requested, here is a Felipe chapter. On another note, after reviewing the last few posted chapters, I noticed more than a few typos and general grammar errors, which is a bit of a yikes. Sorry about that.   


Also, thank you so much for your positive reaction to the last chapter. I really didn't think anyone would be so fond of it. Shows what I know. Thanks!   


  


Felipe sat in the parlor, throwing anxious glances towards Alejandro's office. Don Ciro Esperanza had arrived over a half an hour ago, and he and Alejandro had been closed in the office ever since. He'd tried to loiter outside the office in hopes of hearing what they might be talking about, but there were no obvious hiding places at that end of the hall and a supposedly deaf boy would look very suspicious listening at key holes.   


But he desperately wanted to know what was going on behind that solid oak door. Diego had been missing for so long, and Don Ciro was one of the few people who could tell him what had occurred in that time. He was so used to being Diego's only confidant that not knowing what was going on was doubly frustrating. When Diego had left he'd been hurt, and exhausted, and not really out of the illness that had accompanied the bullet wound, but at least he'd been standing.   


Now-now was a different story. He tightened his hands on his knees and took a deep breath. Diego was still unconscious. It had been two days, and even though neither the doctor nor Don Alejandro would tell him anything, he knew that was much too long. Victoria was with Diego now, keeping an eye on him, watching for any sign that he might be waking up. He'd roused slightly earlier that day, but he'd been delirious, not really awake. His father had been able to give him some water and a small amount of broth, but that was all before he fell back into unconsciousness.   


He could go back. Clearly neither Alejandro nor Don Ciro required nor wanted his presence. He should go back. Diego was . . . _say it_ . . . Diego was dying, if only by inches. He wasn't a doctor, nor a scholar like Diego, but he'd paid enough attention over the years that he knew people didn't generally wake up after being unconscious for so long. Not after head injuries, of which Diego had received several.   


He should go back, but he just couldn't. It was cowardice, no other word for it, but he just couldn't watch any more. Diego was hurt so much worse than he'd expected. He'd watched Diego ride barely scratched from battle after battle that should have killed him. Even after the last few weeks, after all of his warnings to Diego, he'd half expected his to return as himself. A little bruised maybe, and filled with his characteristic graceful apologies, but still the same man. But when they'd found him, Diego had been acting so strangely and now he was lying so motionless in his bed. It was so unlike the Diego of the last few weeks, the one who was always on the move, always with a new plan in mind, always ready with at least a partial solution to the problems brought before him in droves. Sitting there, in his room, just watching him not moving, was increasingly horrific.   


The door to Alejandro's office opened and Felipe jumped to his feet. Don Ciro gripped Alejandro's shoulder and the said something in low tones that Felipe didn't catch. Alejandro nodded slowly and Don Ciro dropped his hand. With a final nod for Alejandro, he swept down the hallway, calling for his man as he passed through the parlor and out into the entranceway.   


Alejandro stood in the doorway to his office, staring blindly in to space. Felipe thought perhaps he would wish to be alone, but as he got up to creep away, Alejandro's head shot up and he gestured or Felipe to come into his office.   


"Felipe, I would speak with you for a moment, if you would."   


Felipe bowed his head and walked down the hall to the office, each step drawing greater trepidation.   


Alejandro held the door open for him as he passed through, shutting it with some force behind him. Felipe sunk into one of the chairs opposite the broad desk, feeling like a troublesome client. He rarely had cause to come in this room. The fixtures were heavy dark oak and oppressive, and the big shelves filling the wall behind the desk brimmed with account books. The desk itself had come all the way from England: a weighty, impressive thing, built to intimidate. Diego had spent some time here in his father's absence, keeping up with the books, but Felipe generally avoided it.   


Alejandro sat in his customary place across the desk, but he said nothing. He picked up a half-finished glass of expensive bourbon and tossed it back. He poured another from the finely etched decanter, but just stared into the amber liquid for a long moment. He tensed and swallowed this glass as well before setting it down firmly.   


"I have just had a rather interesting conversation," Alejandro said, turning to face Felipe. "A month ago, hearing such a story, I would have laughed and called it an amusing fiction, but I seem to have lost my sense of humor today."   


Felipe sank back deeper into his chair. Alejandro was angry. Really, dangerously angry. Alejandro was a passionate man, and Felipe had seen him countless times worked up over the injustice of the alcalde or his frustrations that no one would do anything about it, but this was different. He'd seen it's type before, in the exceedingly rare times when the alcalde had pushed Diego past even his tolerance or when Diego faced injustices that Zorro could not cure. In Alejandro, though, it seemed worse.   


"Don't you wish to hear the story?" Alejandro said. "It's a very good one, I'm sure you'll agree."   


Felipe shook his head desperately. He wanted to know what had happened to Diego, but not like this, not here. Alejandro was staring in his direction, but Felipe didn't think his glassy eyes were seeing anything and his hand where it was curled around the arm of his chair had gone bloodless white.   


"It seems that my son-you know, the one who will spend an entire week locked in the library chasing down a stray fact, and who considers crafting a poem a full day's work-has had a few interesting adventures in my absence. First it seems he gets shot, but doesn't really feel the need to tell anyone about it. Probably just slipped his mind, hmm?"   


Felipe froze, barely daring to breathe. Alejandro's eyes locked on him and then narrowed.   


"I thought perhaps he'd have to tell _someone_, but we'll get to that later. Now, and please interrupt me if I am getting this wrong, his next brilliant decision is to get on a horse and ride around looking for outlaws and what do you know? He finds some. Of course, his not long for life horse promptly dumps him in the middle of the battle and he gets carted off."   


Alejandro paused and smiled, but it was not the type of smile Felipe had ever seen on his face before. This expression was darker, somehow inwardly twisted, something you'd far more expect to find on De Soto's face.   


"I told you this was an amusing story," Alejandro said, the smirk leaving his face but entering his voice. "And now comes what my new friend Don Ciro has to tell me. It seems, once Diego actually got to the bandits' camp, he decides to tell them he's a ranch manager from Santa Paula and not anyone of worth at all. Isn't that funny?   


"And then, after establishing himself as the disposable hostage, he spends the next five days attracting the attention of the outlaws' leader so that he will ignore that idiot Esperanza's rantings and leave Hernan de Carraco alone. Finally, when he does by some miracle finally effect their escape, instead of riding to the alcalde and sending his men after the bandits, he thinks it would be a fine plan to try and take on an entire band of men with by now a fairly good reason to kill him on his own. No matter that he doesn't even know how to hold a sword let alone use one, not that he was armed anyway.   


"And that's not even the best part! Oh, no. The best part is that he sends the man he risked his life for to tell me that he is sorry. Sorry!"   


Alejandro paused and hurled his crystal glass at the wall. It shattered, sending glittering splinters everywhere. Felipe flinched and sank deeper into himself.   


The room went very quiet as Alejandro closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.   


"I have felt that Diego had a great many secrets from me for many years now," Alejandro said lowly, not opening his eyes, "but now it seems that I do not know my son at all, and I do not know if I ever will have the chance to."   


Alejandro opened his eyes again and looked at Felipe again, his eyes dark and unreadable. "I think, though, that you might be able to tell me more than a little about all of this. If I am never to know my son, at the very least I will know _why_."   


Felipe just sat there, unable to move. Alejandro, like Diego, had never been anything but good to him. As a child when he'd first arrived here, he'd gotten himself into his share of boyish scrapes, but Alejandro had never yelled even as much as Diego had. When Diego had gone to Spain, Alejandro had even taken over a few of his lessons, filling up the time and some of the space that Diego's absence had created in both their lives.   


"Well?" Alejandro asked. Felipe still just sat there. He wished Diego were here, or Victoria, to tell him what to do.   


Alejandro stood and leaned forward on the desk. "My son may be dying and I can do nothing but watch. Heaven help me, you _are_ going to explain to me why."   


Felipe shook his head violently. He grabbed his arm, pulling himself into a tighter space and turned his head away.   


Alejandro crossed around the desks and grabbed Felipe's shoulders. "I know you know something."   


*I don't. I don't know anything. Stop, please! I can't tell you.*   


Alejandro released his shoulders with a gasp and spun around. He leaned one hand on the desk and brought the other to his forehead. His shoulders trembled slightly beneath the fine fabric of his coat.   


When he turned around to face Felipe again, the anger had fled to be replaced by utter weariness.   


"I am so sorry, Felipe, so very sorry."   


Felipe uncurled from his defensive position and stood, placing a comforting hand on Alejandro's shoulder.   


"I have been going round and round over all of this for days," Alejandro said with a sigh, not quite meeting Felipe's concerned look. "But the more I think about it, it all becomes more confusing, and it does not help that Diego seems to have trusted nearly everyone in the pueblo more than myself."   


Felipe shook Alejandro slightly to get his attention. Alejandro raised his head, his expression now simply worried and sad. For the first time in Felipe's experience, he looked his age.   


"I must know. Please, if there is anything you can tell me-"   


Felipe stilled. He had no idea what Diego would want him to do. He didn't think it would help anyone for Zorro's secrets to be revealed now. It would only cause Alejandro and Victoria in particular deeper wounds than were necessary.   


"He was shot before he was captured, wasn't he?" Alejandro asked.   


Felipe nodded. That much was too obvious to deny, and Alejandro seemed so defeated.   


Alejandro let out a long sigh. "Thank you for that. When was it?"   


*Eleven days ago, * Felipe signed, deciding to bend the truth just a little. If it ever were to occur to Alejandro that Zorro had disappeared and Diego had been wounded on the same night, the rest would surely not be long to follow.   


Alejandro stiffened, familiar fire sparking in his eyes. "Who was it?" he said tersely.   


*I wasn't there. * He was doubly glad he'd decided to hide the truth about Zorro now. If Alejandro ever found out that it was the alcalde who had shot his son, there was no telling what he'd do, and Felipe couldn't bear to lose him as well as Diego.   


Felipe could tell Alejandro was quickly growing angry again, and took a step backwards.   


*I can't tell you any more than that. I promised him. *   


"He's my son."   


*I promised.*   


Alejandro shook his head. "Will you at least tell me why he didn't tell anyone? I know Diego has a lot of skill with healing, but he is not a doctor. That wound might very well have killed him, even if he had stayed in bed."   


*He didn't want everyone to be worried, and he thought it would be dangerous if the outlaws found out our people didn't have anyone in charge. *   


"It must have been very hard for you," Alejandro said, watching his face closely.   


Felipe nodded, remembering Diego falling off of Toronado. *There was so much blood * he signed almost involuntarily.   


Alejandro came over and gripped his shoulder. "I am sorry you had to go through with that," he said, full of that understanding and compassion Felipe had been missing since Diego disappeared. "Diego should never have asked you to keep such a secret."   


Felipe shook his head. *It would have been worse if he hadn't told me. *   


Alejandro's answering smile was perhaps a little bitter. "Yes, I can honestly tell you that not knowing is worse."   


*I am sorry. I think it would be better if he could tell you. *   


Alejandro gripped his shoulder more firmly. "I understand, as much I wish it otherwise. I suppose I will just have to wait until he wakes up."   


Felipe smiled, trying to look appropriately hopeful.   


"He is going to wake up," Alejandro said. "I must believe that, and when he does the both of us can yell at him. How is that?"   


Felipe's smile was a bit more genuine this time.   


Alejandro nodded and turned for the door, but then turned back again. "If Diego doesn't recover . . . "   


Felipe thought of the cave and all its secrets and all of the adventures Zorro had had over the years. Maybe, even if there was a price, it was a story that should be told. Diego deserved to have people know the kind of life he lived.   


*I will tell you then. *   


I still hope it will not come to that, but thank you."   


A soft knock on the door broke the tension.   


"Come," Alejandro said.   


Maria cracked the door open slightly and took a half-step into the room. "Please forgive me, Don Alejandro, but the doctor has come."   


Alejandro practically pushed her out of the way in his hurry out of the room, Felipe momentarily completely forgotten.   


Felipe took a moment to compose himself and then darted after Alejandro.   


He found Victoria in the hallway outside Diego's door. Alejandro had unbent enough to allow her to stay alone with Diego, but his sense of propriety banished her whenever the doctor arrived to examine Diego more closely. Her beautiful face showed a little frustration, but was much calmer than Felipe would have expected.   


"He will be all right," she said, smiling at Felipe serenely. He didn't know how she could be so sure, but she always had been, even when Diego had been missing. She patted his shoulder and then gestured that he should go in.   


Inside, the doctor was just finishing examining Diego's side. Felipe thought it might look a little better, but he couldn't really judge. The doctor had been forced to re-open it to clean it out and the fresh incision made it seem worse.   


Doctor Hernandez soaked a cloth in alcohol. "Diego has an idea that cleaning instruments and any open wounds in alcohol helps to prevent infection. I must say, it has proven somewhat effective since I adopted it."   


He bent and pressed the cloth against Diego's side. Diego moaned a little and flinched slightly away from the pressure.   


Felipe's breath caught in his throat. That was the first time he'd seen Diego respond since he'd returned.   


The doctor nodded and smiled slightly. He checked Diego's bruised ribs and then re-applied the bandage.   


"You say he woke slightly this morning?" he said, standing.   


Alejandro nodded. "He was not precisely conscious, though."   


"Still, the fact that you were able to give him some water and food is a very good sign. He clearly lost a fair amount of blood somewhere in the last week or so, and he very badly needs to keep hydrated."   


The doctor sounded far more positive than he had the day before. Felipe struggled desperately not to read too much into that.   


"His fever is somewhat lower, though the fact that it is still as high as it is concerns me somewhat," the doctor went on. "Still though, he does look better, even though I am sure it doesn't seem so to you. His pulse is much stronger today, and his color is somewhat improved."   


"What are you saying, doctor?" Alejandro asked, voice at its most controlled.   


Doctor Hernandez smiled. "I am not saying his recovery is assured. That is far from true. However, I think we need not give up hope just yet. If his progress continues at this rate, I think he may very well wake up within a day or two."   


"I thought," Alejandro said, swallowing, "I though you said if he didn't wake up within a day then we shouldn't expect him to."   


"Ordinarily that is the case. However, usually in that case patients deteriorate fairly quickly. The fact that he was somewhat awake this morning, even if he was delirious, proves he has not fallen into deep unconsciousness. I think his body had simply reached the point where it could go on no further. Combined with his injuries, well, this was inevitable."   


Alejandro looked at Diego for a long moment, tension leaking from his tightly held shoulders in a slight shiver. "I cannot express my gratitude enough for what you have done for him."   


"I have done little enough. Most of this depends on him-and what he does should he wake. I am afraid he is in for a long recovery, Don Alejandro."   


Alejandro's lips compressed into a thin line. "Don't worry, I'll make sure he behaves himself."   


Hernandez mouth quirked in an almost smile. "Of that I have no doubt."   


Alejandro accompanied the doctor out into the hall. Felipe could hear them talking to Victoria.   


Felipe sat on the bed next to Diego. Don Ciro, feeling certain that a man as careful with his appearance as Diego would feel better groomed as a gentleman ought to be, had brought his body servant along with him that morning. Felipe had to admit that Diego did look better without the thick beard and with his hair trained back in place. For the first time, Felipe felt as he could recognize his friend. He frowned, seeing a long red line across Diego's throat. He reached to trace it with his fingers. Something that straight could only have come from a knife.   


He heard the door close behind him. He turned to see Alejandro looking at him and dropped his hand. Alejandro's gaze centered on the newly exposed mark on Diego's throat. On his face was such a naked mixture of hope and fear and confusion that Felipe had to turn away.   


_You have to wake up, Diego, you have to. I don't know what he will do if you don't. There are so many people who need you. Victoria needs you, the pueblo needs you.   
_

I need you.   


Felipe curled his fingers around Diego's wrist. The doctor was right. His pulse was stronger today.   


Felipe closed his eyes and allowed himself to hope.   



	23. Chapter Twentythree

  


Consciousness crept over him slowly, like sunlight slinking over the fields at dawn, and he lay there for several moments staring blankly at the wall before he realized that he was awake. He rested, unmoving, trying to get his bearings. He remembered the escape, seeing his father again, the long ride home. But after that things were exceedingly hazy. He had vague memories of people hovering over him, offering water and thin broth in brief snatches, but there was no order to it.   


After five days with Domingo and his associates, waking up in his own extremely comfortable bed was a bit surreal. Weak sunlight filtered through the shuttered windows, but everything was so very quiet.   


He pushed himself up on one elbow, wincing a little at the stiffness in his side. The pain was less sharp than it had been, and his head was clearer than it had been in days, but he could not remember ever feeling so weak.   


"Diego, you're awake!"   


He startled and his arm slipped from beneath him, sending him tumbling back against his pillows.   


The bed dipped slightly and he turned to find Victoria hovering over him, fussing with the pillows behind him.   


"Victoria!" he said, feeling the blood rush to his face. He became acutely conscious of the fact that he was apparently not wearing a shirt and tried to push her away. She shoved his hands aside, clucking at him in impatience, and rearranged his pillows to her satisfaction.   


She perched beside him and laid her hand on his cheek.   


"It is very good to see you awake," she said. "We've been very worried."   


The simple happiness on her face might have been flattering if they hadn't been alone, in his bedroom, sitting _on his bed_, in fact.   


Victoria rolled her eyes. "Your father doesn't think it entirely proper that I be here either, but after your fever finally broke last night, I finally insisted that he and Felipe get some rest."   


The situation was just bizarre enough for him to ignore how very wrong it probably was for her to be here. He took her hand from his cheek and laid both on the coverlet. She curled her fingers around his and squeezed a little.   


He lay there for a little while, enjoying the restful quiet she always seemed to bring. He should ask her what had been going on in his absence, when his father had returned, so many questions. But he was so tired even talking was somewhat wearying, and it was so good just to have her here. Felipe had assured him that she was well, but he'd been so worried for her, for what the alcalde might do to her in Zorro's absence.   


"I heard what happened," he said, wishing he were Zorro so that he might comfort her more directly. Of course if Zorro could be here there would be no need of comfort.   


Her smile fell and then she lowered her head, allowing the black curtain of her hair to cut her face off from his view. Her fingers tightened in his.   


"I should have come to see you," he said, wishing desperately that he could see her face again."Victoria, please, are you all right?"   


She swung her head up. "I am fine. Your father has been kind enough to offer me a place in your home. And we are talking about _you_, even if you do keep trying to change the subject."   


"But, you -"   


She placed the fingers of her free hand over his lips and frowned at him. "You have been drifting in and out of consciousness for _three days_. For a while we didn't know if you would wake up at all."   


Three days? Surely it could not have been that long? But this was a disaster.   


Her face softened and she moved her fingers from his grasp to massage his temples lightly. "Yes, three days. But you are awake now, and the doctor has promised that if you show some sense for once, you will recover."   


Her face darkened a little and her smile became a little sad. She leaned down and embraced him lightly, filling his head with the lovely, clean scent of her hair as it brushed his cheek.   


"You gave us a very good scare, Diego de la Vega. I would have been very angry with you if you had taken my best friend from me."   


She backed away slightly and kissed him lightly, drawing a startled breath.   


"That is for being alive," she said. She bent her head again, kissing him more deeply this time. "And that is for waking up after all."   


Before he could recover from that she lowered her head again. This third kiss was not quite what she might offer Zorro, but it was no light thing. He could almost be jealous of himself. Which was, well, more than a little bit ridiculous.   


"And that?" he asked when she backed away again.   


Her smile was secretive. "That was for being yourself. And because I didn't know if you'd let me get close enough again."   


He caught her hand again and just rested against the pillows for a moment. His head might be clearer, but even this light conversation was draining him. Of course, Victoria often had a dizzying effect on him.   


"And how _are_ you doing?" she asked. "And if you say well enough or try and tell me it is nothing or some other mannish nonsense I think I will scream."   


He smiled at her fierceness, knowing that she meant it well enough. "I am afraid I don't precisely know. I am a bit tired, perhaps."   


She smiled. "I should have known you would be sensible."   


She started to brush the hair from his face and he closed his eyes, happy just to rest for a moment and share a rare time alone with her. He found, despite his best efforts to pay attention to her, that he wanted little more than to just lie here and go back to sleep for maybe a week or so. Her fingers felt good, distracting him from a slight headache, until they once again found the scar from so many weeks ago and paused in their movement.   


"I am sorry," she said.   


He smiled and opened his eyes. "I am afraid it is I who must apologize. There was much going on here that required my attention, but fatigue is no excuse for poor behavior."   


She shook her head. "You were hurt, probably worse than you would admit," she said, pausing to glare at him. "Miguel told me something of what things had been like here and your people have been coming in droves to thank your father for what you've done for them."   


She shook her head, fierce frustration filling her eyes. "You do so _much_ and you never let anyone notice. Not until you are _gone_ and it's too late. I just don't understand you sometimes."   


He reached for her and then pulled back. It was so hard to remember that he was Diego and not Zorro, and therefore she must be Victoria and not his querrida.   


"Victoria?"   


She gripped the covers in two fists, her eyes flashing with a loyalty he wasn't sure he deserved. "I knew you were coming back, I _knew_ it, but days went by and they didn't find any sign of you, none, and it was getting so hard."   


Her eyes were dry, but there was something hollow about her expression that was somehow more painful than tears might have been.   


He struggled to sit up, to find something to say to her, but a wave of weariness assaulted him and the words would not come.   


"Listen to me," she said, pushing him firmly back against the pillows. "You wake up after three days and here I sit, talking about myself. Sometime you are going to tell me how you manage that."   


"I _am_ sorry," he said. "I never meant to leave you alone."   


"I know," she said, laying a hand on his arm.   


"I need to talk to my father," he said after a moment. To have her here was an unexpected gift, but responsibility could not forever be evaded.   


"You _need_ to rest," she said. "Besides which he should be asleep himself. I don't think he's had more than a few hours rest in the five days since he returned."   


"I imagine he found the state of things something of a shock," Diego said as dryly as he could manage.   


"Finding you missing was the shock," she said softly. "Your father is nearly the bravest man I know, but I have never seen him so frightened, never. You are the most important thing in his life. You _know_ that."   


There was something of reproach in her tone, and he felt a surge of guilt. Of course his father's first priority would be himself. To believe otherwise was an insult his father certainly didn't deserve.   


"I am sorry," he said. "I just-"   


She silenced him with a finger against his lips. "You just wanted to prove to him you could manage in his absence. I know."   


She smiled and shook her head at his surprised look. "You are sometimes very hard to read, my friend, but some things are not hard to see for people who know you well."   


She lay down on the covers and pressed her forehead against his uninjured shoulder where it lay above the covers. Her small hand found his and she entwined their fingers again. His father would probably be scandalized, but sometimes he thought his father needed to be scandalized.   


"It is _very_ good to see you, Diego," she said, voice tired and a little rough. "I really don't think I would have forgiven you if you hadn't come back."   


He raised her hand to his lips and then lay both back on the covers with easy, friendly intimacy. Her time with Zorro was always limited by fears of the alcalde and usually when she was with Diego there was always the barriers of his less tangible masks between them. But just now neither of those roles seemed to have much bearing. Lying with her here was easy, surprisingly comfortable. It made him wonder what it would be like when he might take off all of his masks and fulfill the promise he'd made with his mother's ring so many years ago now.   


He turned his head to look at her and saw that she'd closed her eyes and her breath was coming deep and even. Unguarded, her face looked more fatigued. He turned slightly to give her more room, but her fingers tightened slightly in his and he stopped.   


_Rest, querrida_.   


In the quiet that descended, it was harder to fight his tiredness any longer. Deciding it was useless to fight the inevitable, he closed his eyes and joined Victoria in sleep.   


  



	24. Chapter Twentyfour

Felipe practically ran down the hallway and flung himself at the door to Diego's room.  He'd never meant to sleep this long.  What if Diego had woken up?  What if he'd needed something?

At the sight of Victoria half-curled around Diego's arm, obviously deeply asleep, he skidded to a halt, not quite able to keep from crashing into the foot of the bed.

Diego's eyes peeled open.  Seeing Felipe there, he smiled and gestured at Victoria.

*She's asleep,* Diego signed.  He'd never been as good at signing as Felipe was forced to be, and was hampered by Victoria's claim on one of his hands, but he got the meaning across clearly enough.

But then Victoria, too, stirred and opened sleepy eyes.  She smiled at Diego, a dreamy, not-quite awake expression.  He smiled in return, but then she noticed Felipe and sat up with a slightly embarrassed gasp.  

"Felipe!" she said.  "I am sorry.  I didn't mean to fall asleep."  She looked back and forth between Diego and Felipe and then stood.  "I am sure you, Diego, are ready for something besides broth, and Felipe could probably use some breakfast, no?"

Felipe nodded eagerly.  Despite the circumstances, it was very good to have Victoria at the hacienda.  She made things seem almost normal.

"Well, I will go and see about something, then.  You two probably have things to talk about."

She swept out of the room, ruffling Felipe's hair in passing.

Diego struggled to sit up, and Felipe went instantly to his side, taking most of his weight and rearranging the pillows to support his back.  When he finally got Diego settled, he couldn't help but throw his arms around him and clutch him as tightly as he dared.  Diego let him, reaching up one hand to stroke the back of his head.

After a moment or so, he reluctantly let go of Diego and sat back on his heels.

*You woke up,* he signed, somewhat belatedly.

Diego looked at him in clear affection and even chuckled a little.  Oh, that was good to see.

"Yes, it would seem so."

*I should have been here. *  Felipe frowned.  He knew he shouldn't have slept so long.

"It is all right," Diego said.  "Victoria was here."

Felipe felt his frown deepening as a rare, uncomfortable surge of jealousy overtook him.  _He_ was always the one to be here, taking care of Diego in such times as this.  The look Diego and Victoria had exchanged had been so easy and intimate and he was used to being the only one with whom Diego was so open.  

Diego's expression was a little bemused, as if he knew exactly what Felipe had been thinking.  Felipe shrugged and grinned, blushing a little.

"Are you all right?" Diego asked, bemusement falling into a hard, searching look.

*I am now,* Felipe signed.  He wasn't, really, not quite yet, but it wasn't that much of an exaggeration, and Diego wasn't nearly well enough to be dealing with other people's problems.

Diego didn't look like he much believed him, but when he tried to sit up and face Felipe more directly a sharp spasm of pain crossed his face and he fell back against his pillows.  He pressed a hand to his side and took a few deep breaths, but his color remained pale and he didn't try to rise again.

*You're going to have to stop that,* Felipe signed when Diego finally opened his eyes again.    

"I simply moved too quickly."  Diego tried to smile in reassurance, but his hand was still hard pressed against his side and the expression was forced.  "I am well, truly."

Felipe could feel the cycle beginning all over again, and his simple joy at seeing Diego awake curdled.  The banked terror of the last few weeks swelled up in the back of his throat.  They weren't doing this again.  He just couldn't.  He wouldn't.

*No.*

Diego blinked in surprise.

*You don't understand, do you?*  Felipe was well aware of the wild inappropriateness of this protest against someone of Diego's standing, no matter their closeness, but he just couldn't care.   Here Diego was, after the long tense weeks, the shooting, the capture, still keeping up that façade even here, just between the two of them.  

"Felipe?"

*You're not well.  You almost _died_.*

"I _am_ sorry," Diego said, weakly gripping Felipe's arm.  He was clearly struggling, clearly trying to understand what Felipe needed, but that wasn't what Felipe wanted, not precisely.

*The doctor said you have to rest.  You _have_ to.*

"All right, my friend, all right."  Diego slumped further back into the pillows Felipe had propped behind him, apparently tired from even their slight conversation.  His head fell back against the headboard and fatigue and pain marched for once unrestrained across his expression. 

Felipe rocked back on his heels again, biting back his frustration.

The door crashed open, and Alejandro appeared in the doorway.

"Diego!"  The wide smile on his face froze as the veneer of social correctness once more fell over Diego's face.

"Father," Diego said.  Abrupt stiffness washed over the weariness of the moment before and he pushed himself up away from the support of the pillows.

Alejandro took a lurching step into the room, hand half-raised.

Instinct and Diego's forced look propelled Felipe to insert himself between them.  He regretted it a moment later when Alejandro's hand fell and his face twisted away, but he didn't move.  

"Diego," Alejandro said, "it is good to see you awake.  You had us all very concerned."

"My sincerest apologies.  I didn't mean to cause such a commotion."  The guilt and studied control in Diego's voice made Felipe want to shake him.  

Felipe turned from Diego to Alejandro and back again.  Diego had many years' experience with the masks he wore, but he was tired and hurt enough that they couldn't hide everything.  Not from Felipe, at least, though there were barriers there that had never before existed between them.  

In the terror and furor of the last few weeks, he'd forgotten the painful tension which had sent Alejandro to Mexico in the first place, but here it was again, stretching the hurtful silence. 

Alejandro sighed and straightened, as always the practical needs of the moment overtaking any emotional concerns.  Sometimes it was very easy to see him in Diego.

"I need to check your injuries if you are feeling well enough," Alejandro said, sounding as tired as Felipe felt.  "Doctor Hernandez was adamant about the continued danger of infection."

Diego shifted uncomfortably.  "Really, Father, I am sure you needn't go to the trouble."

Alejandro shook his head, clearly not believing that statement any more than did Felipe.  He looked as if he might like to say more, but he just went to stand by Diego's side.  He pressed a hand to Diego's forehead, exhaling slowly.

"You're fever appears to be gone," he said, frowning, "though I would say you are a bit warmer than yesterday night."

His fingers lingered on the gash on the side of Diego's head, though they were as stiff as Diego himself.  "This caused us a great deal of worry.  Are you in any pain from it?"

Diego's face softened just a little at his tone.  "Perhaps a little."

Alejandro tilted his head into the light and pushed back his thick hair to get a better view.  He frowned again, eyes darkening.  "This looks like someone hit you with a rock."

"A boot actually."  Diego shrugged, superciliousness firmly back in place.  "Merely a symptom of my continued inability to get out of the way at the appropriate time, which, I am sure, will surprise no one.  Really, it is of no—"

"Stop.  Just stop," Alejandro said.  He dropped his hand from the side of Diego's head to linger first on the cut on his throat and then the deep welt on his shoulder. "I will not listen to you tell me it is nothing."

Diego fell silent.  He remained so as Alejandro removed the bandages from his ribs, though it was clearly an increasingly difficult process.

The bullet wound looked slightly less inflamed, though still raw where the doctor had carved it out to clean it.  The bruises on the rest of his chest had settled into a murky green-purple.

Alejandro's expression was fierce.  "Those bandits are lucky it was the alcalde and not me who found them."

Something hard and painful lurched in Felipe's chest at the surprise in Diego's face.  If Alejandro noticed it as well, he didn't say, but the anger was still there to be read in the stiffness of his movements.  Silence reigned again as Diego turned his head away. 

Felipe slipped off of the bed and into the hall, not really wanting to watch any longer.

He slunk into the kitchen, cheering slightly at Victoria's bright demeanor.  

"What's wrong, mijo?" she said, reaching to ruffle his hair.

*They're both just so stubborn.*

Her hand stilled on his cheek.  "That they certainly are, my friend.  Is Diego causing trouble again?"

*He can't even sit up straight, and he's still trying to pretend nothing's wrong.*

Victoria patted his cheek and let her hand fall.  "Don Alejandro is a man much admired for his courage and honor.  Sometimes it is hard to be son to such a man, particularly for someone like Diego."

*He's done more than anyone in the pueblo.  He could have died.  What more does he want? *

She shook her head.  "I don't know everything that has been going on here in the last few months," she said, giving him an uncomfortably sharp look, "but I know something of it, and I think I understand Diego a little better now. 

"Diego did nearly kill himself trying to be what he thought Don Alejandro expected, and yet, when Don Alejandro returned, Diego was missing and the ranch left in a panic.  It doesn't matter what miracles Diego did accomplish or what it might have cost him, to him, that's all that matters.  Can't you understand that?"

Felipe did understand that, probably a lot better than she knew did.  He just hated it.  He'd always hated it, but what was there to do?

*But Don Alejandro doesn't care about any of that.*

Except he could remember how angry Alejandro had been, in the beginning, before he knew Diego was missing, before he knew anything at all.

"Of course not," Victoria said, "but Diego is having trouble seeing it that way.  I thought I had gotten through to him earlier, but I can see he is choosing to be difficult.  We'll just have to keep trying, all right?"

Felipe nodded, cheered to have an ally in this.

Victoria smiled at him and piled up a tray with food.  "The doctor did say Diego needs to get his strength back up, and I think the both of them could use a rescue by now.  How about we take this down to Diego and call a truce, hmm?"

He hopped up again and followed as she swept down the hall.  

Author's Note:  I realize it has been some time.  Suffice it to say that my computer broke last summer, requiring me to purchase a new one.  Following that was the Semester of Great Trauma, so writing wasn't really a priority.  I have decided this will be the last chapter I post until I have the entire story finished.  I just don't think it is very fair to all of you to get one short chapter every six months.  On a better note, there are not very many scenes left, so it shouldn't be too long.

About this scene—I only posted it because it _had_ been so long and I felt I owed y'all something.  I doubt it will appear in this form should I ever post this story in its entirety.  Alejandro and Diego are so stubborn that I felt their first conversation would be stilted, but unfortunately it made the entire scene way too clunky.


	25. Chapter Twentyfive

Author's Note:  Okay, so I lied.  I will post just this one more chapter and then no more until I am done.  I didn't expect to be able to finish one so quickly, but I did, so wala, here it is.

One warning—there is a slightly higher level of violence and violent imagery in this chapter, so it is definitely a PG-13 section.

     Domingo pulled at the chains binding him to the wall, frowning as they clinked in the darkness.  

     "Can't anyone make them stop?"

     It was one of the newer ones—Benito, he thought.  A good man, steady in a fight, but young.  Young enough to voice his fear, to put a name on the sound of wood sawing in the dark.  

     "Don't listen to it."  Another voice in the darkness.  Pedroso this time.  

     "I can't.  It's so loud.  Do they have to make it so loud?" 

     Pedroso's voice rumbled again, too quiet to make out the words, and Benito fell silent again.

     Domingo pulled on his chains again, but no use.  They would never stretch far enough for him to look out, not that it would do any good, with little but the blackness of the night filling his window.

     It didn't matter.  He needed neither reach nor dawn's light to know what it was they were building out there in the square.  

     Another sound of distress, the urgent sound of half-remembered prayer, broke through the muffling stillness of the prison.  

     He cursed the alcalde, silently renewing his vow.  They were good boys, solid, loyal for their line of work, good in a tight spot or around a pinched bottle of rum.  The sound of sawing grew louder.  The boys didn't deserve to listen to this, didn't deserve to have to lie here in the dark, knowing what they were doing out there.  But his boys were too far away for him to offer comfort, or even the solidarity of his presence.

     De Soto had planned well.

     "If they do not stop we will lose our chance," said Esteban, the cell's only other occupant.  

     "No," Domingo said lowly, "they know if they continue long enough it will lose its effectiveness.  Left alone in the dark, knowing what's out there, a man can scare up a lot better torture on his own."

     Esteban shifted, his own chains clanging slightly.  

     Domingo listened for a long time to the sounds of nails in wood, of the swing of the trap door as they tested it.  It wouldn't be long now.  

     The moon crept up into view, throwing a long pale finger of light across the cell.  Its color was off, a dusty almost-red instead of white.  Domingo took it as a sign. 

     The sounds of building ceased at last, and silence took their place. 

     A second sound now, this one a furtive scuffling.  The footsteps of the patrol thudded in from the square and the sound stopped, starting up again as the patrol faded away.  

     The turn of the key in the lock rang too loudly in Domingo's over-charged senses, though he knew it was really barely audible.  

     The door swung open on carefully oiled hinges, and a dark shape blocked the finger of dusty moonlight.  Domingo's wrists were quickly freed, and a muffled clang announced that Esteban's soon followed.  

     Their rescuer approached again and the slash of moonlight bounced off the red and blue of his uniform coat.  

     The men were stirring now.  Though they'd been placed as far away from Domingo as possible, there was no way they could be missing what was going on in the first cell.

     "Domingo?" Ciano asked.  

     Domingo forced himself to ignore the sudden elation in his voice.

     "My men?" he asked, quickly rubbing circulation back into his wrists.

     "They were not part of the bargain," the soldier hissed.  "You know each cell requires a different key."

     Domingo knew he could pick the locks.  For Esteban it would be the work of only a few moments.  But there were many locks to be opened and the patrol would be returning.

     He had a vow to keep.

     He nodded and the soldier passed him two knives.  

     "My reward?"

     "We'll find it on the fields on the south side of the pueblo."

     The man's teeth glinted in the moonlight as he smiled.

     "Domingo?  Domingo!"   More than one man now.  

     He turned his back and walked out of the cell.

     "_Domingo!_" 

     "Domingo, you can't just leave us here.  Domingo!"

     They were shouting now, rattling the cages with the fury of caged beasts.  There was no way the patrol would miss the noise.  It didn't matter.  He'd timed it.  The patrol wouldn't return for fifteen minutes.  Time enough to get away.

     _Inacio__, Manuel, Paskal . . . _

     Not time for anything else.

     _Benito,Pedroso__, Rufio . . .  _

     Domingo followed Esteban and the soldier out of the prison and around the side where three horses stood waiting.      

     _Rafel__, Vito, Gonsalvo . . ._

     They swung onto the horses and moved them into the square.  He could still hear the men shouting.  

     There, in the blood tinged moonlight, stood the gallows, ready for their dawn appointment.

     One he would be missing.

     _Lizar__, Naldo, Frantzes . . . _

     He had an altogether different appointment to keep.

     They paused in an anonymous meadow on the road going south.  The sky to the east was just getting lighter.  

     "The payment?" the soldier said, eyes lighting.

     Domingo realized he still didn't know his name.  It was better that way.

     It might as well be here.

     He swung down from his horse, pulling a shovel from his pack.  

     Esteban followed in silence.  

     "We buried our takings here," Domingo said. 

     The soldier watched them dig for long moments, but, as time passed, he threw increasingly worried glances up the road towards the town.

     Finally he grabbed a shovel of his own and bent his back to the work.

     "You surely buried it deep," the man said with forced joviality.

     _Fernan__, Havier, Luis, Mario . . ._

     "We're almost there," Domingo said, eyeing the hole.

     Domingo's shovel hit something hard—a rock most likely.  It would serve.  He swung down again, hard enough so that the shovel gave off a distinctive clang.

     "It's here," he said.

     The soldier pushed him out of the way and knelt in the mud.  His fingers scrambled through the muck frantically.

     "Where is it?  _Where is it?_"

     "I have it right here," Domingo said, drawing one of the knives from beneath his jacket.  

     The soldier turned around in confusion, still on his knees in the dirt.  His eyes widened as Esteban quickly grabbed him and shoved a cloth down his throat.  Domingo moved in and shoved the knife in quick and hard between his ribs.  Blood rushed over Domingo's hand, steaming slightly in the growing morning.  

     Esteban held the soldier as he went through his death throws, keeping the gag shoved firmly down his throat.  The man jerked once, twice, again, and then was still.  

     _Ciano__._

Esteban dropped the man in the hole he'd helped to dig and they both climbed out.  They shoved the dirt back on top of him in silence, piling leaf litter and chunks of grass on top to temporarily disguise the hole.  

     "We must be going," Esteban said, dashing for his horse.  "They will have discovered that we are gone by now."

     "I'm not going," Domingo said.

     Esteban froze and turned around.

     "I have a vow to keep and a debt to pay."  A debt paid in blood.  Seventeen—now, sixteen—more graves to fill.  An eye for an eye.  

     Plus two more.  Those two were for him.

     "They will catch you.  It will be worse than hanging, now.  We could be beyond the alcalde's reach in two days."

     He was right, of course he was.  The alcalde wouldn't want men who knew so much to be found.  Far better they disappear.  It was getting light now.  The hunt would be on, but there were enough soldiers in the garrison that the gallows could still be manned.  The boys would be marching up to it now, one by one.  He could see them, so clearly, as if he was there, watching.  He wondered if Benito would have to be carried up.  Ciano would go on his own feet, angry until the end. Some of them might already be dead, their bodies thrown in a pile waiting to be dumped in some unmarked hole.  

     Surprising, then, to find himself planted here.  He'd thought himself a practical man his entire life.

     "I have a debt to pay," he said again.

     Esteban stared off towards the town.  Domingo could almost imagine he heard horses upon the road.  

     "It is my debt, also.  I will stay."

     But Domingo shook his head.  He opened his mouth.  Shut it again.  Unexpectedly difficult, finding the right words.  They'd been together for over ten years now.  A lifetime, in their kind of work.

     "There is no point in both of us being foolish.  With the loot we've stashed you could live like a king."

     Esteban held up a hand in entreaty.  "Domingo, mi amigo. . . "

     Domingo pushed his hand away, standing straighter.  "You must go.  They will be coming by now, and I do not mean to be captured."

     Esteban hesitated just one final moment but then flung himself on his horse and kicked it at a fast pace going south.  He'd always been the practical one.

     Domingo watched him go before finally mounting his own horse and pulling it—and the dead man's—off the road and through the brush.  No, he didn't mean to be captured just yet.

     Sixteen plus two more.  He didn't see the way just yet, but it would come to him.  For this, he would take the time.    


	26. Chapter Twentysix

Author's Note: No, it is not the Apocalypse, but I am posting again. The significant delay can mostly be blamed on this chapter, which has caused me much angst and at least seven revisions. But in the end, I figured I owed it to y'all to finish this thing, so here it is. The rest is finished, and will be posted ASAP.

Alejandro returned from escorting the doctor to the door and paused in the doorway to his son's room. Diego lay slumped against his pillows, obviously wearied by Hernandez' examination. Felipe stood uncertainly to the side with a bowl of soup that he'd obviously just brought from the kitchen, but Diego didn't even look as if he realized the boy was there.

Alejandro stepped into the room and gestured to capture Felipe's attention.

"Why don't you leave the soup, Felipe."

Felipe looked uncertainly at Diego, but with no sign from him, the boy finally set his tray down and left the room. Alejandro waited for the quiet sound of the door closing behind him and then perched himself on the side of Diego's bed.

Diego's eyes fluttered open, taking longer than Alejandro liked to focus. Hernandez had explained again and again that what was most troubling Diego now was exhaustion and that rest would cure that in enough time, but Alejandro didn't think that quite explained what was wrong with his son, not all of it.

"Father," Diego said, struggling to pull himself to a more upright position, "was there something that you wanted?"

Alejandro moved to help him sit up. He pulled the pillows up to lean against the headboard so Diego could settle against them.

"You have to know that there are some things we must talk about," he said, laying his hand on Diego's arm.

Diego nodded, but Alejandro could see the sudden consideration, veiled as it was, in his eyes. There was something brittle and tightly held about him that was as almost as painful to see as the bruises that plastered his skin in a kaleidoscope of fresh purple and fading green. It had been the same since he'd woken yesterday morning, if not worse.

"Before you go to the trouble of trying to protect me from the truth, why don't we pretend that you think that I have some intelligence, however scanty, and that you remember that I am supposed to be the father in this conversation."

Diego nodded again, but his air of calculation didn't fade. Alejandro felt the old tide of frustration rise up in him again, but squelched it as best he could. He didn't want to start this conversation that way.

"While there are many things for which I will require explanation, we must talk about that wound in your side. It is clearly a bullet wound and it is too old to have come from Domingo."

He almost sounded rational. It was, he felt, a major achievement considering what he _wanted_ to say.

Diego grimaced. "I was afraid you might notice that."

"That wound nearly killed you and you thought I _might_ _notice?_ Someone shot you and Felipe is the only one who seems to know anything about it. I hope you can explain this to me, because frankly, I am having a very hard time understanding it."

He paused for a moment and tried to get himself more firmly under control. "Will you at least tell me how this even happened?"

"I was riding to town to check on Victoria. There hadn't been any trouble very close to town in days and I thought it would be safe enough. As it turned out, I was wrong." Diego shrugged uncomfortably. "The horse, fortunately, knew his way home and I encountered Felipe before anyone else saw anything."

Alejandro had to remind himself that he really did want to hear the rest of this story before he lost control of himself again. "Leaving aside this extraordinary plan to go riding around by yourself, what possessed you to keep this a secret? You had been _shot_. You should have sent for Dr. Hernandez immediately."

Diego shook his head. "The doctor already had far too many patients to look after and the wound was not so very serious. Our people had enough troubles besides for me to want to put everyone in a panic."

The most extraordinary thing about this speech was that Diego seemed to honestly believe it a perfectly rational explanation.

Alejandro let out a long breath and sent up a prayer for patience. "We are talking about a bullet wound, not a scraped knee. Your second such, I might add."

And hadn't _that_ been quite the story, finding out that his retiring, previously predictable son had deliberately thrown himself in front of a bullet.

Diego had the grace to look embarrassed. "You have been talking to Miguel, I see."

"You were shot. In the head. Did you think I wouldn't find out about that"

Diego's mouth quirked to the side, quick and rueful. It was the first time Alejandro had seen anything of the Diego he knew since he'd returned.

"I didn't manage it on purpose, I can assure you. It ruined a perfectly good coat."

The habitual air of patrician unconcern settled over Diego's face like a familiar cloak. It made Alejandro feel extremely tired.

"A very great tragedy, I am sure." Alejandro sighed. "But, Diego, as much as you may wish to believe otherwise, you were very badly injured. Repeatedly, apparently. How could you ever think that getting on that horse and riding out with Juan and the men was at all a good idea? Even if were not for Domingo and his men, you were putting yourself in terrible risk, not to mention what kind of pain you must have been in."

And there it was, what Alejandro was having the most difficulty with in this whole bizarre story. The rest of Diego's decisions, however extraordinary, he could at least follow if only with a sort of twisted Diego logic.

Diego's jaw tightened. "The alcalde had declared martial law. The outlaws had taken over. Our people were being attacked from all sides. With you away, I was the only one our people had. I was not about to betray your trust by abandoning them."

"And do you honestly think that _this_ is what I'd expect of you?" Alejandro's voice sounded strained even to himself. "How could you believe for one moment that I would want any of this"

Diego reached with his free hand and laid it on top of Alejandro's where it still clutched Diego's forearm. "I know you didn't. Of course I know that. But even I could not stay in bed and leave our people leaderless in such a situation."

Alejandro had to look away. "It is a miracle you weren't killed. We came so very close to . . . Hernandez was so certain you weren't going to wake up."

"Father," Diego said. There was enough uncertainty in his voice that Alejandro had to face him again.

"I am all right." Another one of those quick sideways smiles. "Or at least I will be."

At least he wasn't trying to pretend all was well. A small miracle there. Diego had a surprisingly wide mulish streak underneath all of those refined manners of his, as Alejandro had learned over the years.

Alejandro patted the arm beneath his hand in reassurance, but he didn't trust himself to speak yet.

"I am glad you are here," Diego said. "There are some things about Domingo I think you must know."

Alejandro nodded. There still many things about Diego's actions during his absence that he wanted to discuss, but he didn't think Diego was going to tell him any more today.

"Domingo and I—" Diego paused, seeming to struggle for his next words with uncharacteristic effort. "There was ill will between us from the beginning, and the escape would only have sealed that. Now that he has escaped, I fear he might be coming here. Our people may be in considerable danger, not to mention you and Felipe."

Alejandro didn't even bother trying to figure out how Diego would have learned about Domingo's escape. "The hacienda is well guarded, and I do not think he will try to go after the patrols. He strikes me as too clever for that. You are not to worry about this."

Diego didn't look very happy about that, but there was little he could do about that, weak as he was. "There is more you should know. Domingo and the other bandits were here on de Soto's invitation. I do not know if the alcalde will be so intent on seeing all of them caught."

The knowledge of de Soto's complicity probably ought to surprise him, but he found himself half-expecting it. De Soto had seemed so gleeful, that day of his return. He didn't know why Diego should seem so regretful about it, except that Diego had always seemed to expect better of de Soto. "Zorro?"

Diego nodded. "De Soto let it be known that as long as the outlaws were causing trouble for Zorro, he would cause them no trouble himself, with an additional reward for anyone who managed to permanently end his vigilante problems."

The intense bitterness in Diego's tone cut as much as it surprised. Surely all of this could not be over de Soto? "As terrible as this is, I do not see how it can come as a shock to you," he said carefully. "De Soto has been trying to kill Zorro for years."

"Yes, and every time it is the pueblo that pays for it. How many times has some scheme to capture Zorro landed some innocent in prison, or a family out of their home, and now, the entire pueblo under attack for weeks?"

Alejandro froze in near shock. He'd certainly heard these arguments against Zorro over the years, but never in his own house, from his own flesh and blood. Diego had never shown much enthusiasm for Zorro, but Alejandro had always thought it was out of general indifference, not actual objection to the man's cause.

"Zorro has done more for this pueblo than any other. He puts himself in harm's way every time he rides and gains nothing for himself."

Diego shook his head, more agitated than Alejandro had ever seen him. "No, not for nothing. It is such a game for him, tricking the alcalde's soldiers, riding away in victory with the adulation of half the town. The soldiers barely even aim any more. He _enjoys_ it."

Alejandro felt his own anger rising. "How can you speak this way? Why shouldn't he enjoy it? Really, Diego, there are times when I swear I will never understand you. The man has risked his life a thousand times for this pueblo."

Diego closed his eyes, receiving the words like an expected blow. Alejandro regretted the pain his words had clearly caused, but he could not regret the words themselves. Zorro had done far too much and at too much cost for Alejandro to sit there and allow him to be maligned, even by his own son.

Diego let out a ragged breath, but he didn't seem quite ready to let it go. "He really doesn't, can't you see that?"

The question seemed so important to Diego that Alejandro could almost wish he could give him the answer he so clearly needed, but it was not in him speak against the man who had nearly single handedly saved the pueblo time and time again. Zorro had been sent to them like an answer to a prayer, and one did not criticize gifts that could come only from the Lord above.

"He started this war," Diego said when it was clear that Alejandro would not speak the words he wanted to hear. In his whole posture there was such a desperate plea for understanding that it made Alejandro's chest ache. "Don't you see the kind of arrogance that takes? To think that he, one man, could fight with men like Ramon, like de Soto, and cause anything but trouble? He doesn't risk _anything_, not hiding behind that mask of his. It's you and Victoria and the others who challenge the alcalde every day who are the heroes. He simply rides in and stirs up trouble and leaves other people to pay in his stead."

Oh, so this is what they were talking about. Alejandro hadn't thought all of this anger could be for Zorro alone.

"The man is probably dead," Alejandro said quietly. "Can you not let him rest?" In all that had happened he hadn't quite had the time to deal with that, or even think upon it, but it was there waiting to be recognized. If Zorro were alive, he would not have left the pueblo to the alcalde for so many weeks.

Diego stilled. "Yes, perhaps I should."

He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, agitation writ in the painful tension holding his shoulders.

"This trouble with Domingo," Alejandro said, watching him intently. "It is not your doing. You did not bring this on us. The alcalde did."

Diego's attention snapped back on him and he started from the bed. Alejandro raised a hand and he half-settled again.

"It is was the alcalde's doing that brought this criminal to the pueblo in the first place, it was the alcalde who betrayed their bargain, and it is clear that it was someone in the garrison who helped him escape. None of this has anything to do with you."

"But, Father, . . ."

"No," Alejandro said gently. This, at last, was something he understood all too well, something he could deal with. "You did everything you could to keep our people safe, at considerable and ill advised risk to yourself. You are the only reason that Hernan de Carraco is alive. I only wish you had shown more sense when it came to your own safety."

Diego's fingers strayed perhaps unconsciously to the healing line across his throat. The pictures Ciro Esperanza's words had painted all too visibly sprang into Alejandro's mind almost of their own volition: Diego on his knees, beaten and deathly pale, with that murderer's knife pressed to his throat.

"What possessed you to tell them you were a ranch hand?" The words burst out despite himself. "God damnit, Diego, they could have killed you, just for that."

The hand dropped from Diego's throat. "I did not think I had the right to be hiding behind your name. I know you think I have little pride in it, but I would not have it used against you."

Bitter, to have his own words thrown back at him. Is this what they sounded like to Diego, hearing them so many times?

He reached out a hand to grip Diego's other arm. "I think you place far more value in my honor than I ever would."

"You are the most honorable man I know. It is what your whole life has been about." The denial in Diego's voice was sharp. So, too, the pride there. It had probably always been there, if Alejandro had ever bothered to look.

"Perhaps once, but God is merciful and grants us time to learn the errors of youth. I have become an old man, Diego, and I would rather have a live son than a heroic one. If that makes me a coward, so be it."

Diego made a small hurt sound and turned away. He tried to pull his arm from Alejandro's grasp but Alejandro kept his hold firm.

"You shouldn't have to choose," Diego said, still not looking at him.

"I do not see that I had to," Alejandro said, lightly squeezing the arm beneath his hand. "I do not know what it is that you think you could have done more. We have lost property, but not lives. Our people are safe and confident in the knowledge that they have given their loyalty to a man who was watching after them. You did all that you could, all that _anyone _could have done."

"It wasn't enough," Diego said quietly, finally meeting Alejandro's worried gaze again.

"Sometimes the hardest thing in a man's life is to admit that no matter what he does, it cannot be enough." Alejandro kept his voice soft, trying desperately not to break this fragile connection between them. He'd never seen Diego look so nakedly exposed before.

"You left our people in my care, and when you returned, you found that I had cleverly gotten myself captured and left our people alone and in trouble. I am so very sorry, Father. I know you have no reason to believe that, but I am sorry."

"Oh, Diego," Alejandro said, raising his hand from Diego's forearm to his shoulder. "You have done so much more than that. I wish you could see that."

Diego smiled, and though it wasn't forced, it was a pale imitation of what it might be. "Don't worry. I am sure this untoward plague of responsibility will pass soon enough."

It was a good phrase, a correct one. It offered a path out of this tangled web of emotion onto the steadier road of what passed for normal between them. Alejandro wasn't entirely certain he wanted out just yet, but Diego looked so very near the end of himself that Alejandro feared that pushing him any further would only cause further damage.

"I do not believe that for a moment," Alejandro said. He tightened his hand on Diego's shoulder, only belatedly remembering the lash hidden beneath his hand when Diego's face tightened slightly. He stood, dropping his hands back to his side.

"I have been hearing much that has surprised me since my return and I must admit, I do not understand much of what has gone on here. But if one thing is clear, it is that I have been misjudging you for many years, and for that I am deeply sorry."

"It isn't your fault," Diego said. "And you were right, about many things."

The discussion had drained much of Diego's strength, leaving him pale and slightly trembling.

"You didn't eat your lunch," Alejandro said, remembering.

Diego waved a hand wearily in dismissal. "I'm not especially hungry."

Alejandro frowned, but he didn't want to break this tenuous understanding between them by fighting over something so trivial.

"You should be resting," he said finally. Diego looked like he might want to say more, but he didn't protest when Alejandro helped him to rearrange the pillows so that he could lie flat again.

Alejandro paused in the door to the hallway. There was so much more he wished to say to his son, words that desperately needed to be spoken but that he feared never would. There was so much work to be done. Damaged property to inspect, frightened tenants to reassure, fellow dons calling for advice. It all piled up in a seemingly insurmountable mountain. However worried he was about Diego, however much the escape of the murderer Domingo might occupy his mind, he had responsibilities to keep.

Honor, he thought with an inner twist he forced himself to feel, demanded no less.


	27. Chapter Twentyseven

Alejandro mopped unashamedly at the sweat pouring down his forehead. To call attention to one's inability to withstand the heat was a serious breach of proper deportment, but Alejandro could not really care. Social graces were Diego's forte, never his own. It was damnably hot in this square and the alcalde showed no sign of letting them leave any time soon.

They'd all been called here: all the Dons and every other person not strictly needed for patrolling the various holdings. Diego's health allowed Alejandro to insist that he stay at home, and Hernan de Carraco was still too weak to even rise from bed most days, but aside from these exceptions, everyone else of any kind of importance in all of Los Angeles stood here in the square.

The alcalde was holding another one of his justice days. Every few days he rounded up all those in violation of the slightest law. Judgement was swift, punishment severe. With Zorro gone, there was no one to speak against him, and the alcalde grew bolder by the day.

Once upon a time, Alejandro himself might have raised a voice in protest, but Ignacio de Soto had saved the life of his son, and that bound Alejandro's hands more firmly than the strongest chains might once have. So he stood here, forced to watch as de Soto ordered peasants lashed for not paying their taxes, for not taking sufficient part in the patrols de Soto had organized, for half a dozen real and imagined excuses. Never mind that the peasants were the hardest hit by de Soto's own criminal involvement with the bandits. De Soto had never been one to trouble himself with anything so trivial as fact.

Alejandro had made sure to lend money to whomever among his people required it to meet the taxes and ensured that the work rotations allowed for the men to show up for their subscription into de Soto's temporary militias, but that was all he could do.

"We should be doing something," Victoria said sharply beside him. "We cannot just let him do this."

"And what can we do?" Alejandro said. He thought, even if it were not for his debt to de Soto, that he might have trouble finding the necessary energy to speak today. "De Soto has won. Zorro is gone, the town under martial law. De Soto would be quite in his rights to execute anyone who interfered with him, and that includes you, my dear."

Victoria looked at him with a kind of pained disappointment. A not unfamiliar emotion in times like these, but usually he was the one expressing it, and Diego on the receiving end. He wondered if Diego had always felt as he did now, like speaking up would only do more harm than good.

There were fortunately not many lashings today. De Soto had been thorough enough in that regard that few men were remaining who had not paid the tax nor served his time. But then they hadn't been called here to witness a few peasants be beaten while men of supposed honor stood around and let it happen.

No, the lashings were just a preview. The main event was yet to come.

Alejandro looked up at the gallows that had been put into such repeated use after the last few weeks. There were many reasons to be worried about leaving Diego behind with a reduced guard, but this was not one of them. Diego, like his mother, had never been able to find justice in death, but Alejandro, who had spent so many years on the battlefield, could not share this view even if he did admire it.

The last unfortunate man was untied from the lashing post, his back a bloody ruin. De Soto looked on in cool satisfaction for a moment but then gestured at two of his men.

The people in the square shifted and murmured. Tension wracked every body and the slight relief brought by the pause in the proceedings ran through the crowd like a sigh. The anxiety levels of the townspeople, already ratcheted to unprecedented levels by the last few weeks, had reached an all time high and these little gatherings of the alcalde weren't helping. Watching all of these people be led to "justice" only called to mind the one man who remained free of the alcalde's soldiers. Domingo had yet to be so much as sighted, and the death toll had climbed to four. Although he had primarily targeted soldiers, many of the people in the square called the men of the garrison brother or son or husband. The alcalde had bent all the resources he could afford to the search, but everyone in Los Angeles had cause to know how difficult it was to find one vigilante if he chose to remain hidden. It was all anyone could think about, especially today.

Alejandro himself could think of little else. The hatred in the man's eyes as he'd shouted that last threat at Diego was all too easy to remember.

_They will be speaking of the death I shall give you for years. I promise you that. I swear it on my father's grave._

His skin shivered slightly despite the heat. Diego was recovering, however slowly, but it had only been a little under two weeks since they'd found him and he still tired so easily. He would be in no condition to face someone like Domingo if the bandit chose to take advantage of Alejandro's absence.

Three men, bound in heavy chains, were dragged forward. Mendoza began to read out their crimes, but there was no point in it. Everyone knew who they were. Or at least they recognized the only one of any importance.

Esteban, Domingo's lieutenant. He'd been caught only a few days ago riding hard and fast to the north. Thanks to the alcalde's swift postings to towns all over California, the commandante had recognized him and thrown him on the first ship to Los Angeles.

Alejandro had only briefly set eyes on the man when they'd at last recovered Diego, but he was easy enough to pick out even so. The other two men were just two common thieves who'd been too stupid to flee Los Angeles when the wind had changed. One of them could barely stand, and the other, steadier on his feet, prayed noisily in between his sobs.

The third man, however, stood there as if none of this could touch him. From what little Alejandro had learned of Domingo and his right hand man from Diego and Ciro Esperanza, this could only be Esteban.

When the list of crimes came to an end, the alcalde stepped forward.

"You may be wondering why I called all of you good people from your homes on such a day," de Soto said. "I understand that our poor town has been plagued with many troubles of late and much rebuilding is to be done, but I wanted to show you that better times lie ahead. This man standing here thought he was beyond the reach of the law. He thought he was safe. But I am here to show you that no man is beyond the law. I pledge to you, good people, that any man who commits any crime against you will be found, no matter how far he may go, no matter how long it takes, and I will see justice done. No longer will lawlessness be allowed to rule in Los Angeles."

A little blunt, Alejandro thought, but then, it was probably meant to be. And what with the gallows looming over them all, he had to admit it had a certain effectiveness.

The first thief was dragged to his feet and literally hauled to the platform. Padre Benitez spoke a short prayer for the salvation of his soul, but de Soto's men were on a schedule, and it was only a few minutes before the next poor fool was being led up the ramp.

"The man disgusts me," Ciro Esperanza said, squeezing through the crowd to stand by Alejandro's side. "None of this was remotely necessary".

Alejandro could not help but agree. He had no particular objection to the manner of punishment. The evidence against all of these men was fairly conclusive, and even if their trials had been somewhat swift, there had never been any doubt of the verdict. But he did object to them all being dragged out here to be witnesses to this brutal display. Justice was sometimes bloody. Men were weak and had not the wisdom of the Almighty in rendering judgment, but it need not be held like this, on a stage, before women and children. It left a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

Esperanza cleared his throat in a dry cough. "And how is Diego? I had heard that he was improving."

Alejandro eyed him obliquely as Esperanza shifted his weight. The man looked embarrassed—as well he ought. But, then, Alejandro owed the man a sort of debt for the information he'd brought, and he perhaps had a certain right to know how Diego was recovering.

"The doctor informs us that he is out of danger now, though it will be some weeks before he recovers entirely."

That was the truth and certainly as much of it as he owed Esperanza, but Alejandro could not shake off his sense of unease where Diego was concerned and it was more than his fear of Domingo. It had been a few days now since Doctor Hernandez had said Diego might get out of bed for limited periods, which should have been a good sign, but Alejandro could not take it as such. In his mobile hours, Diego pursued his usual interests, but with a near franticness that was entirely new; he'd pick up a book only to discard it five minutes later, pick out a few chords on the piano and lapse into silence, pull out his journal and let the ink dry on the quill before it ever made it to the page. Diego just seemed so very _angry_, and worse, had the air of a man with a very important decision to which he could not settle. After all the recent mysteries where Diego was concerned, Alejandro could not help but worry.

"I am . . . very glad to hear that," Esperanza said. "I think I may owe him a greater debt than I may ever fully understand."

Alejandro nodded his reception of this statement, but he just wished the man would go. He wanted nothing more than to go back to the cooler comfort of the ranch.

A gunshot rang through the heavy, humid air just as Esteban was being led to the stairs. The soldier in front of the alcalde collapsed to his knees, blood staining the tunic of his uniform. Everyone froze for a moment, but then the screaming started.

Alejandro shoved Victoria behind him and looked frantically about the rooftops for signs of the shooter, but he did not immediately spot him.

"_Zorro!_"

Zorro? But then more people were shouting and pointing up at a rooftop slightly to Alejandro's side. He spun, pulling Victoria again behind him, and there he was. Zorro.

Alejandro's heart leapt within him, and he could not help but join in the villagers shouts of sheer exultation. He hadn't realized how much he'd been grieving the masked vigilante's death until seeing him standing there, vibrant and inarguably alive. They were saved. He whispered a quick prayer of thanks. The Lord had provided as Alejandro ought to have known He would.

But Zorro wasn't alone. He struggled fiercely with another figure. The second man was holding the gun that had almost certainly wounded the alcalde's soldier and the two of them were wrenching it back and forth between them. Zorro's movements were sluggish, almost forced, and he seemed to be heavily favoring one side. The second man shifted and delivered a short brutal kick that side and the masked man stumbled and nearly fell. Zorro recovered with a quick twist and gave a sharp tug to the weapon the both of them still gripped. Unbalanced by his sudden maneuver, the second man lost his balance on the slippery roof tiles and slipped over the forward edge.

A desperate grab of the overhang allowed the man to swing forward and fall in an awkward heap on the second story verandah.

Zorro, still clutching his side, finally straightened and ran along the edge of the roof, only to slide down the back of it and disappear from view.

"Domingo," Esteban shouted. "Domingo, get out of here. I am already lost, but you can still escape."

_Domingo?_ Alejandro strained to get a better view of the man who was just now pulling himself to his feet and caught sight of the tangled silver pony-tail he remembered from the bandit's leader.

The man was a fool. What did he hope to accomplish here? The square was filled with soldiers—soldiers who were rapidly ringing the square. He could have no hope of escaping.

Domingo raised his gun again, this time clearly aiming for the alcalde, and Alejandro realized that maybe getting out of here was not Domingo's primary concern.

A whip cracked and Domingo's gun fell from his hand.

Zorro was standing just a few yards from Domingo on the verandah.

"This is not your fight, Senor Zorro," Domingo shouted. "If you had just stayed out of it I would have rid you of your alcalde forever."

Zorro took a step towards him, but Domingo swung over the railing and shimmied down one of the supports to the ground below. The people around him shouted in fear and scattered. In the confusion, Alejandro lost sight of him.

De Soto threw himself behind a line of his men.

"Shoot him," he shouted.

"Which one?" Mendoza asked.

"Both of them, you idiot."

A few soldiers half-heartedly raised their guns to point at Zorro, but Zorro made an easy flip over the railing to land solidly on his feet below.

A woman's scream cut through the confusion and the crowd parted a bare twenty feet from Alejandro to reveal Domingo gripping a women to his chest with a sword to her throat.

Zorro came at a run through the faceless crowd, but he came to a sudden halt when he saw what Domingo held.

"That's right, Fox," Domingo said. "Keep your distance. We all know how much you value these peasants. You wouldn't want her blood on her hands."

"It's not her that you want," Zorro said. "I think we both know that."

His voice was different, somehow: tired, slightly pained, _familiar_.

"Dearest God," Ciro Esperanza whispered beside him. Alejandro turned to meet his wide-eyed stare.

"You did not know, either," Esperanza said, stumbling back a step, eyes now wide as saucers. "Blessed Jesu, you did not know."

Alejandro whirled back to the scene before him.

"You," Domingo said. His sword lowered.

"Yes, it is me," said the man wearing Zorro's clothes and wielding Zorro's sword, but speaking with his son's voice.

But no one else seemed to have noticed. How this could be, Alejandro did not know. Did these people have no ears? Could they not see how obvious it was? And yet beyond Ciro Esperanza beside him, there were no exclamations of surprise. The people just called out Zorro's name over and over like a benediction, tears running down more than one person's face.

Alejandro looked wildly about the square. The soldiers had the whole thing surrounded now. There would be no escape. For either of them.

"I always knew you for a fool," Domingo said, face wildly triumphant. "But this surprises even me. Why show yourself? By the end of the day I meant for the alcalde, myself or the both of us to be dead. One or more of your enemies would have been removed by nightfall and all you had to do was stay hidden."

Diego's voice, and it was clearly, impossibly, his voice, was filled with a steel he'd not heard even in Zorro's before now. "Those soldiers that you murdered—they played no part in this. I will not let you pay the debt between us with the blood of others."

"How very noble of you," Domingo said. "Stupid, but noble. The alcalde has this place surrounded by this point. Neither of us will be getting out of here now."

The woman struggled and Domingo pulled the sword back in tight against her throat.

"Now, hero," he said, "put the sword down or she dies."

Zorro hesitated just a moment and Domingo drew the sword in just tight enough so that he hadn't yet drawn blood, but the slightest movement would cut the blade into her skin.

Zorro reached down carefully and placed his famous sword at his feet.

Domingo raised an eyebrow. "Very good. Now, the whip."

Zorro drew the whip from his belt in slow deliberate movements and added it to the sword on the ground.

Domingo gestured to the left with his chin and Zorro took a few steps away from his pile of weapons.

"I have done as you asked, now let her go," Zorro said. Alejandro had to think of him as Zorro, even if he continued to use Diego's voice.

"Excellent idea" Domingo said, throwing the sobbing woman at Zorro. Zorro caught her in one arm and spun away from the flung knife which followed, but his movement was just a hair slower than his usual lightening speed, and the knife drew a shallow cut across his right shoulder.

Zorro released the woman into the crowd and moved into a defensive stance, not letting the effect of this fresh wound appear on his face.

Alejandro could hear the alcalde shouting for his soldiers to do something, _anything_, but the crowd had surged into a nearly impenetrable ring around the bandit and the Fox, and the soldiers could not make it through.

Domingo swung his blade for Zorro's head. Zorro dove under the blade in a quick easy tumble, but the move drew him even farther from his weapons. Domingo charged at him, swinging in the wild, graceless manner of the man with no formal training in the sword. Zorro stepped in, light and quick, and grabbed Domingo's wrist in its downward swing. He ducked under the arm and used Domingo's momentum to swing him around and sent him flailing in another direction.

Domingo spun and flung another knife. Zorro threw himself on the man and small girl in the weapon's path, and it buried itself harmlessly in the wall of a building.

"You can't run forever, hero," Domingo growled.

Zorro tried to make a dash for his discarded weapons, but Domingo dove into his path. Zorro narrowly managed to block Domingo's sword arm with his right forearm, but the bandit brought up his knee sharp and hard into Zorro's ribs.

He followed the blow with a vicious back hand that sent Zorro stumbling back a step.

A second gunshot sounded through the air, this one accompanied by a man's hoarse shout. The crowd instantly parted, revealing a man on his knees clutching his shoulder and the alcalde holding a smoking pistol at the end of the hastily formed corridor.

Domingo froze, allowing Zorro to slip around a few precious feet closer to his sword.

"Gentlemen," de Soto said, gun firmly trained on Domingo, "you have no conception of how happy you've made me. When I made the arrangements for this little affair, I had no idea I would be entertaining such distinguished guests."

"You know I would never miss one of your parties, alcalde," Zorro said, bowing slightly.

Despite the overwhelming seriousness of the situation, Alejandro could not help but grin a little at the man's ability to show such flippancy, even here.

De Soto nearly screamed in frustration. "You! You are supposed to be dead. Tell me, what does it take for you to stay that way"

"What, and deny myself the pleasure of these little soirees of yours? Surely you are joking."

"Apparently I'll just have to try harder this time," de Soto. He swung the gun around towards Zorro, finger tightening on the trigger. Zorro slid to the side at the exact same moment, hurling the rock he'd concealed in his hand with deadly precision.

De Soto cried out and the gun flew wide.

Domingo, who'd not moved an inch, reached behind himself and drew a second pistol that had been tucked in against the small of his back. He pointed it at the alcalde who still stood there clutching his hand. The soldiers around him froze, though the hatred in their eyes said that for once this was not out of indifference.

"Domingo," Esteban said, still standing in his chains at the foot of the gallows. "Why did you come? You had to know you would never get out of here."

Domingo's fist at his side clenched until the knuckles went white, but the hand aiming the gun remained rock steady. "I was not going to let him execute you, not if I could stop it. And if I couldn't I was going to make sure he didn't enjoy his victory."

The man, Esteban, looked pained and dropped his head.

"Well, alcalde, I have delivered your Fox to you," Domingo said. "Is it not true that any man who brings the 'infamous outlaw Zorro' to justice will receive a pardon and a reward of several thousand gold?"

A dark wordless murmur rippled through the crowd.

De Soto's air of righteous indignation was perfect. Alejandro had never given the man enough credit for his acting skills. "Such crimes as yours have no pardon. All I can offer you is an appointment with the gallows after your friend."

Domingo laughed. "Of course. I should have known better than to have trusted a criminal like you."

Zorro inched a bit closer to his sword.

"Don't think I've forgotten about you, hero" Domingo said, not turning from the alcalde. "One more move and I shoot."

They stood there, all of them, frozen in place until Domingo laughed again.

"Well, this is a pretty choice isn't it? I have the both of you here in my palm, but to kill either of you is to give the other his dearest wish. And then there's my poor self, dead no matter which I choose."

De Soto's eyes shifted and his gaze flickered just for a moment to the rooftop opposite.

Alejandro realized only too late what it must mean. He, too, looked up, but it was too late, always too late. A soldier stood there with a rifle, but he was aiming at Zorro not Domingo.

The soldier adjusted his aim and Zorro finally appeared to catch the movement and slipped to the side. Domingo, misinterpreting his move, lurched towards him, swinging his gun around.

The rifle went off in the soldier's hand, rocking him backward. Alejandro turned to the drama before him, fully expecting to see his son's body lying on the ground.

But there, instead, lay Domingo. The crowd around the bandit and Zorro stilled, clutching at each other as if in support.

Zorro dropped to his knees beside the bleeding man on the ground.

"That bulled was meant for me," he said, voice tight.

"I am glad that it missed, then" Domingo said, coughing slightly. "If I could only choose one of you, it had to be the alcalde. You are only a fool. The alcalde killed my boys. I would not want him to have his triumph, not after that."

"Soldiers, I order you to arrest these men." Even de Soto seemed shaken by what he had just seen.

The soldiers didn't move.

Zorro drew himself with some apparent effort to his feet. He walked the few feet to his weapons and bent to pick them up. The whip went back to his belt, but the sword stayed in his hand.

He started walking toward the alcalde, seemingly ignoring the soldiers who were drawing in a tighter ring about him. His path drew him very near to Alejandro's little group standing there on the side, and Alejandro could see the sweat pouring down Zorro's pale face beneath the mask.

"_Zorro_," Victoria said a little helplessly beside him.

Zorro paused and turned to her. A small smile touched his lips.

"Ah, querrida, I am so very sorry. For everything." From the tone of his voice they might have been alone together and not in a square filled with people and soldiers. "I can only ask for your forgiveness."

With that he reached beneath his cloak and pulled out one single rose. He tossed it to Victoria, but it slipped between her clenching fingers and landed in the dust at her feet.

Alejandro bent to pick it up. For a moment he was lost in a memory of a young soldier and his wild, beautiful bride tumbling recklessly through the brambles of the valleys and backwoods of his newly acquired land. For years and years he had tried to grow cuttings of Elena's favorite rose in the garden that grew yearly behind their house, but it had never thrived. Elena had declared eventually that some things are meant to be free, and so the rose with its fragile golden petals and aroma like distilled summer was allowed to grow unmolested on the quiet isolated stream where they had discovered it so many years ago now.

"Don Alejandro."

Victoria's quiet voice drew Alejandro out of his memory and he allowed the sturdy girl beside him—so different from his fragile, glowing bride—to take the rose from his hand.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Zorro take another step closer to the alcalde, and he forced himself to turn and watch Elena's son approach the alcalde and nearly his entire garrison with only the naked blade in his hand.

"Alcalde," Zorro said, raising his voice only slightly, "this charade ends here. I will not allow you to use my name against the people of this pueblo any longer."

The firm, deadly resolution in his voice sent shards of fear splintering through Alejandro's chest. He took a step forward, but Esperanza restrained him with a bruising grip.

"He has already taken too many chances today. If you step forward it will condemn him for sure."

Alejandro allowed himself to be pulled back, knowing Esperanza's words for the truth no matter how little he liked to hear it.

De Soto stepped forward, eyes sparking. "Do you mean to tell me you surrender?"

The people behind Zorro fell forward, crying out in denial. They gripped his sleeve, shoulder, cloak, whatever they could get their hands on. The soldiers raised their guns.

"Wait," cried Ciro Esperanza in his huge voice. The din of the crowd lowered. Esperanza lunged forward, hand raised in entreaty towards the soldiers.

"Over the last few months, we have seen our poor town besieged by trouble after trouble. Our lands, our happiness, our very lives came under great risk. And who was it who fought day after day to keep the tide back, to win back the town? Was it the alcalde? We caballeros with our wealth and privilege? No, it was one man—Zorro."

The people shouted and took up Zorro's name again in a chant. Alejandro watched as the expression on Zorro's face went from grim to horrified and then gradually fell into weary resignation.

Esperanza allowed the people's enthusiasm to die down a little. "And what did our alcalde do during this time? He sat behind his safe walls and allowed our houses to be set fire, our cattle stolen, our crops trampled. He allowed men like this Domingo to go free to terrorize the town. He attacked the one man who had done anything to bring an end to this nightmare.

"And so who do you think we should trust now? The alcalde, or Zorro? Zorro has always been there when we have had need of him and always will. I do not think we can say the same of Ignacio de Soto."

The people began shouting Zorro's name again. The soldiers began to be showered with small rocks, vegetable matter, whatever the people had on hand.

Zorro had closed his eyes briefly, but then squared his shoulders and stepped forward again. The restraining hands gripped at him desperately for one moment but then fell away.

As Zorro drew closer to the alcalde, a few of the soldiers stirred slightly and moved as if to block his path.

"My friends" Zorro said"you know I always find the opportunity to cross swords with you a most pleasant diversion, but my fight is not with you today."

The men looked at each other and then the wild, angry crowd and fell back.

"I will see you all stripped of your posts for this," de Soto shouted.

"I think rather not," Zorro said, raising his sword. Blood from his shoulder fell in slow drops to splatter wetly on the ground, but he gave no sign that he noticed this.

The alcalde whipped his sword from his scabbard and leapt at him.

"You have made a grave mistake, Zorro. I don't know how you survived our last encounter, but this is one time where you will not be escaping."

"Oh I had no plans to be leaving the party so early," Zorro said, ducking beneath a wild swing. "I would never treat your hospitality so lightly."

The alcalde snapped his mouth shut in a grim line and began a series of overhead blows to Zorro's side that forced him to use the muscles of his right side and shoulder. Zorro met each blow, but with none of his usual grace nor repartee. Neither did he move with his accustomed speed, simply meeting all of de Soto's attacks as they came and making none of his own.

De Soto lunged forward just a bit too strongly. Zorro took a neat step to the side and de Soto, finding no resistance to his charge, stumbled forward just a bit. He recovered quickly, slashing to the side. Zorro intercepted the blow, but his arm faltered and only a quick twist of his body prevented him from being impaled.

Triumph blossomed on de Soto's face. "You _are_ injured. The bandit was right. You are a fool."

Zorro just flipped his sword to the other hand and raised it into a classic pose. "Did you wish to dance or is it talking you are after?"

De Soto growled and threw himself into the fight again, but this time Zorro more than met his challenge. Alejandro watched in near amazement as Zorro traded blows with something closer to his accustomed ease. He'd heard of men who could fight with either hand, but he'd never witnessed anything like this.

Something darkened on Zorro's face and the pace of his blade picked up. De Soto, stepping backward to avoid a sudden reversal of a parry, caught his boot on a rough patch of ground and fell.

Zorro stepped forward and pressed his blade to his throat.

"Don't," de Soto cried, throwing his hands up.

"If I have not killed you yet, I am hardly likely to do so now" Zorro said.

No one spoke. An almost eerie quiet descended upon the square. No one had ever heard Zorro be quite this direct before.

"The people of Los Angeles are under my protection," Zorro said, pressing forward just a bit. "They are, truly, under your protection as well, but you seem to have forgotten that, Senor Alcalde. I hope this will serve as a reminder."

With that he carved his famous Z into the alcalde's uniform.

"As of now, martial law is over and the higher level of taxes has been rescinded," Zorro said. When de Soto didn't respond, he pressed his sword back against the alcalde's throat.

"Yes, _yes_."

Zorro nodded. "You have such a reputation for being difficult, alcalde, but I have always found you such a reasonable man. A lesson in the evils of gossip, I am sure." He whistled sharply and a familiar black shape leapt over the soldiers blocking the exit to the square.

Zorro sheathed his sword and pulled himself into the saddle. No one made any move to stop him, not even de Soto, who still lay there on the ground.

Zorro untied two heavy bags from his saddle and tossed one and then the other to land at Alejandro's feet.

"These are the proceeds from the recent rise in taxes," Zorro said, circling Toronado to face the crowd of assembled people. "The alcalde has generously offered to refund them to you."

Zorro turned in the saddle to look down on Alejandro.

"Don Alejandro, I trust that you will see that the money is returned to the appropriate people?"

Alejandro nodded once.

At that Toronado reared up and Zorro brought his sword up in a classic salute to the people in the pueblo.

"Until later then, my friends." Zorro pressed his heels into Toronado's flanks and the horse leapt forward, easily clearing the line of soldiers blocking the road out of town. A few of the soldiers, seeing that Zorro was really escaping after all, raised their guns and fired after him, but the dark figure on the horse receded quickly out of range.

"_Amazing_." Ciro Esperanza again. Alejandro, watching as Zorro's shape in the distance grew even smaller, had rather a different word for it.

He turned to find Felipe staring at him. Their eyes met for a moment in perfect understanding.

"You know where he is going," Alejandro said lowly. Felipe looked slightly trapped but nodded, his shoulders sagging in something that looked very much like relief.

Victoria was still staring at the rose in her hand, seemingly unaware of the exchange that had occurred just a few feet beside her.

"Victoria," Alejandro said. She looked up, reality snapping back into her large eyes.

"I do not like having left Diego for this long, not after Domingo's appearance today."

"Yes, yes of course. Go, please, Alejandro. I am safe here."

Some part of Alejandro had a difficult time in leaving a woman alone and undefended after such a scene, but Victoria would not thank him for the thought and she was truly in no danger here in the town.

Felipe was already leading the horses through the crowd.

"Stay with Victoria," Alejandro said to Miguel, who'd accompanied them into town. "Take her back to the hacienda whenever she is ready."

He barely waited for Miguel to nod before he was away, pushing his horse through the crowd.

When they reached the road he gestured for Felipe to lead.


	28. Chapter Twentyeight

The narrow entrance to the cave widened out to a generous space lit by oil lamps and a few candles. Zorro's big black horse was apparent from the moment they'd entered the cave proper, but it wasn't until he'd dismounted and stumbled forward into the center of the room that Alejandro caught sight of the animal's master. Zorro was sitting on the floor beside his horse, eyes closed, back leaning against the cave wall.

"Ah, Felipe," he said, not opening his eyes, "I wasn't expecting you so soon. Toronado is in some need of attention I fear. I would help you, but I find myself a trifle weary."

"Diego," Alejandro said, forcing the word past his dry throat.

Zorro's eyes flew open.

"Father! I … I can explain." He pushed himself forward on one hand in a clear effort to regain his feet, but Alejandro fell to his knees beside him.

Zorro's hat fell quickly to the ground. Alejandro paused a moment at the mask, but then raised a shaking hand and peeled back the thin layer of cloth.

His son looked back at him from above the rest of Zorro's costume.

Alejandro could only stare for a long moment, but then grabbed his arm and yanked him into a hard, tight hold.

"All of this time . . . you—"

His son . . . Zorro. It was all so much that Alejandro's head spun with it.

"I never meant for you to find out like this. I wanted to tell you so many times."

Alejandro gripped him harder to disguise the shaking in his arms and pressed his lips into the side of his head. It had been so close. If Domingo had not moved at that last, crucial second, it would have been Diego lying bleeding his life away in the square.

Diego gripped him in return, but his arms held very little strength.

Alejandro took a few deep breaths. The shock was ebbing, however slowly, rational thought rising to take its place.

He backed away enough to drop his hands to Diego's shoulders and gave him a hard shake.

"What in God's name did you think you were doing? Or were you even thinking _at all_?"

"With Esteban caught, I thought it more than likely that Domingo would show up," said Diego, looking as agitated as Alejandro felt.

"And so, logically, you would of course have to jump on a horse and ride along yourself, never mind that this man is a wanted killer, or that the square would be filled with soldiers or that you yourself were just allowed out of bed _four days ago_."

Diego grimaced. "Yes, well, I didn't see a way around it. Zorro was the only one who could do anything."

Alejandro gave him another strong shake. "Then let me explain it to you. It's called staying here, in bed, where you belong. I am nearly convinced that you have no sense whatsoever. Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?"

But then Diego's face turned serious and his eyes sparked with some of that restrained anger that had so filled Zorro back in the pueblo. "I could not risk allowing Domingo to harm the people of this pueblo any further. And someone had to put a stop to de Soto."

Alejandro shook his head. "You were hurt. Again."

He dropped his hands and pushed back Zorro's cloak. The right sleeve had been torn in a neat line and blood dulled the silky material in a large patch.

"You might as well let me have a look at that."

Diego frowned. "It is not as bad as it looks."

"I want to see it."

Diego sighed and then slowly pulled off his gloves before unlatching the cloak and pulling the shirt over his head. Alejandro pulled on his arm until the wound came into better light and had to admit that Diego was mostly right. Blood had run in long lurid lines down his arm, smudged now from the removal of the shirt, but the wound itself was not deep and had already sealed. It probably would not have bled nearly as much as it had if Diego hadn't been forced to use the shoulder.

Felipe crouched down beside the both of them with a bowl of water and a cloth and Alejandro allowed him to clean the blood from Diego's arm. Diego reached out to squeeze the boy's shoulder, but he ducked and shook his head.

You shouldn't have done that. This could have been so much worse.

Diego looked plainly blighted, but Alejandro had to agree with Felipe.

"He's right" Alejandro said softly. Diego looked back up at him.

"Dear God, Diego, would you look at yourself" Alejandro said, gesturing at the half-healed wounds that still littered Diego's exposed torso. "You were in no condition to be taking such risks. Don't you think you've done enough of that lately?"

Diego just looked at him. Alejandro suppressed a sudden desire to start shouting at him and let out a long breath.

"You aren't nearly recovered enough to be lying around a cave. You look like you can't even stand up."

Frustration was beginning to replace Alejandro's crippling fear and he didn't fight it. What had the boy been _thinking_?

Diego glared at him briefly and pulled himself to his feet. It was not done without effort, but he managed it without help and kept to his feet without support though he swayed a bit.

Alejandro stood and placed a hand under his elbow.

Diego leaned on him heavily and Alejandro pulled his left arm up over his shoulder.

"I think those bandits must have hit your head harder than I'd thought," Alejandro said darkly as Diego leaned on him even further.

Diego's mouth quirked slightly. "It's not impossible."

Felipe hovered to the side, a ridiculous grin on his face and tears standing in his eyes.

"You have been dealing with this all along, haven't you?" Alejandro asked him.

Felipe nodded, pulling his arms in tighter against himself.

"You have my most heartfelt sympathy then."

Felipe's grin grew even wider.

"If you have returned, then our people cannot be far behind and will be wondering where Diego is at any rate," Diego said, studiously ignoring this exchange.

Alejandro reluctantly nodded, looking about the cave now for the first time. Felipe darted off somewhere farther into the cave. He would want to explore, later, but now was not the time.

Felipe reappeared a moment later, signaling that it was safe for them to proceed.

Alejandro helped Diego through the narrow doorway and found himself in his own parlor. The place was, thankfully, deserted. The servants would all be either standing guard or as yet in the town.

"This has been here the entire time, hasn't it?"

"I am afraid so," Diego said, sounding altogether too amused.

Alejandro gave him his best glare. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

They got Diego back to bed without any further trouble—a small wonder given the way the day had been going.

Felipe slipped off to return their horses to the stable, but Alejandro perched himself on the side of Diego's bed, still vaguely dazed by the day's revelations.

He looked at Diego lying half-propped amongst the pillows of his bed. Against the whiteness of the linens, his wounds looked doubly garish. They'd healed considerably ever since he'd been recovered, but it would be many weeks before most of them faded, and some of them would forever leave a scar.

"I must be the worst father in all of California."

Diego propped himself up on one elbow, reaching for Alejandro with the other hand. "I'm the one who's been lying to you, to everyone."

"You should never have been able to," Alejandro said, shaking his head. "I am your father. I should have known."

"I didn't want you to know. You always took such pride in Zorro and I knew you wouldn't be able to if you knew the truth. It just would put you in too much danger."

Alejandro ran his gaze over the exposed injuries on Diego's upper body. Most of them were obviously the work of recent events, but there were not a few that had clearly been years in the making. "I should have known," he said again.

Diego moved to sit up, but Alejandro pressed him back against the pillows. His fingers brushed that long, hideous scar that ran across Diego's side and horrible realization filled him.

"This . . . this wasn't from some random group of bandits. It was the alcalde."

"I suppose there is no use in denying it," Diego said, looking unhappy about it.

A curious iciness began to seep through Alejandro, dispelling the crushing fatigue in its wake. He remembered how certain everyone had been that Zorro was dead, Victoria's voice as she'd described all of the blood. "I am going to kill him."

Now Diego really did look alarmed. "He was trying to kill Zorro, not Diego de la Vega."

Alejandro pulled away from Diego's sudden grip. "Is that supposed to make it better? When I came back and found that you were missing . . . " His voice quavered and he had to swallow sharply before he could continue. "I as much told de Soto that if anything happened to you because of his inaction I would see him dead for it. Now I find out that not only did his negligence put you inadvertently in serious danger, but that the whole thing was a plot specifically designed to kill you. What did you think I would do?"

Diego curled his knees beneath him and knelt up to face Alejandro. "I am sorry, Father, I never meant for you to have to discover any of this. It is why I could never tell you."

He certainly sounded sincere enough, but he was still apologizing for the wrong things.

"And did you think for one minute what these risks you were taking might mean for everyone else? I speak not for myself but Felipe, Victoria, our people. Between the alcalde and your own stupidity it is miracle that you survived a week. What do you think it would have done to them if the alcalde's plan had succeeded"

Frustration was beginning to dispel the pained regret in Diego's face. Alejandro could almost be grateful for that. He'd been so frustrated and angry for days, years, and he almost wanted a fight.

"You speak as if there time to think of any of this," Diego said. "There wasn't any time for any kind of plan. There was only meeting each disaster as it came."

"And so you, what, were riding around chasing bandits all night and then getting up and doing the same thing as Diego? How long, exactly, did you think you could keep this up?"

"People were being _killed_. Something had to be done and there was no one else."

"You keep saying that," Alejandro said, "but I am not seeing it. There are several thousand people in this town and not all of them helpless farmers. There are dozens of other men who could have stepped up, organized patrols, contacted the governor."

Diego shook his head. "But no one _did_, don't you see that? And why should they? Zorro would certainly have it all cleaned up eventually. Zorro is always there when we have need of him and always will."

Hearing Ciro Esperanza's words flung back at him with such bitterness finally forced an end to Alejandro's own anger. Had he himself not witnessed his fellow Dons' extraordinary inaction in the face of real consequence? Had he not seen the jubilation today in the square that Zorro was once again there to rescue them? Had he himself not joined in that exultation, thinking that now, surely, they were saved?

Diego had lain back against the pillows again, his arms crossed over his chest as if cradling something.

"That Zorro has always been here does not excuse all those that should have acted. I have always told you that our privileges come with obligation."

"I understand what you are saying, and I am grateful for it, but it doesn't change anything. I'm the one who set Zorro up as the great hero. I was the one who allowed everyone to become dependent upon him. I'm the reason why Domingo and men like him came to Los Angeles in the first place. It was my fight."

Alejandro reached up to cup the back of Diego's neck with one hand but still Diego wouldn't look at him. "You did all that one man could, Diego. I do not know what it is you expect of yourself."

"It didn't work."

"And did you really expect it to? A single man, no matter how skilled, is not an army. Even Zorro cannot protect an entire pueblo from an invasion of this nature."

Diego let out a long breath and some of the tension seemed to melt out of the muscles beneath Alejandro's hand. "It did work, at least for a while. But de Soto kept letting them escape as quickly as Zorro could round them up. Nothing I did seemed to do any good and the people were paying for it."

Alejandro had the feeling he was hearing almost a sacred confession. He was not Padre Benitez, armed with the wisdom of God.

"It was not for nothing," he said, struggling to find each word. "The people knew that they were not abandoned, that someone was fighting for them. Sometimes the most courageous thing a man can do is to pick up a battle he knows he cannot win."

Diego finally did turn to face him, mouth quirked in a slight, inward smile. "It wasn't any kind of decision of active courage. Only of running from one trouble to another."

"I think you have been reading too many of your novels if you think that is not exactly what courage is. What you have accomplished here . . . Diego, it is simply amazing."

The shock of finding at last the secret that he had felt separated him from his son was fading, and the two of them—Zorro and Diego—were finally merging into one man in Alejandro's mind. He could not help but cast his mind back, recalling all of Zorro's adventures, except this time with knowledge that it was his son behind that mask, not some faceless stranger more myth than man. Alejandro had always been proud of his son's accomplishments, as little as he understood most of them, but this . . . this was so much beyond anything he might have dreamed of.

Diego jerked away from him, jaw clenching in what seemed a very real anger. "There is nothing amazing about it. Dozens of families have seen their homes burned to the ground, trade has been disrupted for _weeks_ and four soldiers were murdered in just the past week. Don't you see how dangerous this dependence upon Zorro has become?"

"And if this is how you felt, why in God's name did you show up this afternoon? I still do not understand what you thought you were going to accomplish. All it would have taken was for one soldier to decide to ignore Esperanza's words."

Diego shook his head. "Having started this war, I could not now abandon everyone to it. The people expect Zorro to save them. I couldn't just leave them to de Soto. If that meant risking capture, even ensuring it, so be it."

Oh, he had no idea, did he?

"Diego," Alejandro said, and although he tried, he could not keep his frustration out of his voice, "don't you think you are taking a little too much on yourself? It was Ramon who started this and de Soto who took up the banner. If it were not for Zorro, the people of the pueblo would have been suffering under great oppression for years now. You are the only reason scenes like this afternoon's whippings are not commonplace."

"I am _not_ the only reason." It was the closest Alejandro had ever seen Diego really lose his temper. It took a bit of adjustment, to say the least. And yet looking at his son, with all of this furious passion on display, he wondered how he could have ever believed that Diego's emotions ran no deeper than passing interest in a new book or sonnet.

Diego closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, but his arms remained tight held into his chest and the line of his shoulders was still held tense and energized.

"There are many people who stand up to the alcalde—you, Victoria, even Mendoza. And you do it without a mask, facing the consequences openly. Zorro risks less and less every time he rides. The soldiers don't even believe he can be captured anymore."

"If that is true, then why are you the one with all of the scars?" Alejandro asked quietly.

"They are not as bad as they look," Diego said, pulling at the blanket to cover up the worst of them.

"That they are there at all is bad enough. I do not understand how you can be thinking this way. Surely you must see what good Zorro has done for this pueblo."

Diego's shoulders slumped and the anger seemed to leave him in a rush. "You probably should not be listening to anything I am saying. It has been a long few days, and I am not myself. I do know that Zorro has done some good, at least most of the time."

Alejandro wished that he could believe it was just a day's frustration, but Diego was far too unsettled for that. "And the other day, all of that anger for Zorro's arrogance, was that all because of a long few days as well?"

Diego shrugged uncomfortably. "A bit, perhaps. I do not know. It is just that when I started this whole charade, I never imagined it would take so long."

"I think I understand," Alejandro said, and he thought he really did, at least enough so that Diego's frustration with Zorro no longer seemed so incomprehensible. Seven years was a long time to have put your life on hold, particularly with no end in sight. With de Soto willing to go to such lengths to see the end of Zorro, who could blame Diego for wondering what the point of all of this was?

"I am sorry to be like this," Diego said. "I didn't expect everything to fall apart so completely. There just got to be so many of them, and I was just so very tired. There probably was a better way, but there was no time to think."

Alejandro had the feeling that this was more than Diego had wanted to admit, but it explained much.

"You must have been exhausted," he said. "I cannot imagine what it must have been like here."

Diego did look frankly something more than exhausted. He'd spent days doing little more than lying in bed, but his eyes still had a bruised and hollow look to them.

The bitterness there was fading along with the anger, but Alejandro had a feeling that this was more because Diego was too tired to pursue it any further than any real resolution.

"Diego," Alejandro said, forcing the words past the sudden lump in his throat"I know that you probably don't want to hear this, but I must tell you how very proud of you I am. As little as I like how careless you were with your own health, to keep up this battle in the face of such dangers after you had been so badly injured—I have never witnessed anything like it, not in Spain, not in my years as a soldier, not even from Zorro. If that is not heroics, I do not know the meaning of the word."

Diego's eyes looked suspiciously bright. "That means a very great deal to me, Father. Your opinion has always been important to me, even if I know that I have not always been the son you would have chosen."

"Stop," Alejandro said. Much more of this and he would be crying himself. "That has never been true and would not even if you were not Zorro. To have Zorro for a son is an amazing thing, indeed, but do not doubt that I have always been proud of you, even if I am very poor in showing it."

Diego didn't look entirely convinced. Alejandro supposed he deserved that.

"It was not Zorro I returned from Mexico to see," he said, reaching out to stroke the hair from Diego's forehead. Diego finally settled under his hand and at last relaxed fully into the pillows.

"You look tired," Alejandro said. "It hasn't escaped my notice that you haven't been sleeping all that well."

"I had a lot to think about."

"Zorro?"

Diego nodded. "Many things, but yes, mostly Zorro. I wasn't certain it wouldn't be better for him to stay dead. I'm still not certain he shouldn't, though there doesn't seem to be another path. I suppose I should rest. After today it is clear that Zorro is going to be needed quite a bit over the next few days."

Alejandro's hand stilled. "He most certainly is not. Have you listened to a single word I have said?"

"You were there today, you saw what it is like. As much as I want it to be otherwise, Zorro is needed. He can't just disappear."

Alejandro thought about that. There was a not small part of him that wanted to tell Diego that it wasn't worth it any more. That the pueblo was going to have to start rescuing itself from now on. He'd lost seven years of really knowing his son to this cause, and that was surely more than anyone could ask. And what about Diego himself, forced to lie to the woman he loved, forced to be viewed by the world as a spineless fool? Except . . . he had been there that afternoon, and he couldn't deny what he'd seen.

"There will probably always be a need for Zorro, it is true, but there is nothing to prevent him from taking a holiday now and again."

"A holiday?" Diego was looking at him as if he had suggested that Shakespeare was a talentless hack and Newton an overrated charlatan.

"Yes, a holiday. One that is far overdue, I might add."

Diego frowned. "I simply can't be disappearing right now. If Zorro doesn't keep him in check de Soto will just continue on as he has."

"I can see that I am not being clear enough. Zorro _is_ going to take a holiday, of several months at the least. _You_ on the other hand are going to do exactly what the doctor orders, and I do not recall any of those orders involving you riding around on a horse getting shot at."

"It won't work," Diego said, but this time he sounded far less certain. "De Soto will be twice as difficult after being so humiliated today."

"I am afraid you are just going to have to let the rest of us worry about that for a change. It would be easier with Zorro's help, it is true, but we are going to have to go without for a little while. I am serious about this, Diego."

"A holiday," Diego said, but this time with consideration, not denial. "I don't think I'd even know what to do with myself."

Alejandro drew himself up from the bed and pulled the covers back into place over Diego. "I can think of a few things, don't worry. Explaining all of this is going to take you a month at the least."

Diego looked confused. "You _know_ most of Zorro's adventures. You saw them for yourself."

"Yes, and you are going to explain them again. So perhaps you had better get some rest, hmm"

"Apparently so."

Alejandro couldn't help but watch him for a moment longer. His son, Zorro, it was going to take a while if ever before that thought ceased to startle him. But he could already hear horses from the returning men in the yard. The world would not wait forever, no matter how rocked Alejandro's foundations may have been.

He heard Juan call for him and slipped out of Diego's room and off down towards the exit into the yard. Diego wasn't the only one who was going to have to come up for explanations for this day.


	29. Epilogue

Epilogue

Diego sat in the library, attempting to read Caesar's Commentaries for the fourth or fifth time. The book unsurprisingly did little to hold his interest, but he'd already read every book in the library twice through at least. His father was being surprisingly resolute on this holiday business, and the lack of activity was driving Diego slowly crazy.

As events had turned out, Zorro's disappearance had not been as complete as his father would perhaps prefer. With all of the unrest, an appearance of Zorro's had been required a few times for reassurance if nothing else. But his father had forced Diego to swear up and down that he would take no unnecessary chances and avoid the alcalde and his men at all costs, and the worry in his eyes had kept Diego to that promise.

It wasn't just the lack of Zorro, but the banishment of most physical activity that had Diego so frustrated. In the first few weeks after Father had pronounced this ridiculous scheme for Zorro's temporary retirement, Diego had been barely let out of the hacienda. Not until there had been no signs of bandit activity for days had he even been granted short rides. Even then, the men who'd accompanied had kept looking at him like he might fall off his horse at any minute. He supposed he had to understand that, given how the last few times he'd gotten on a horse had ended.

In truth, his recovery was frustrating him more than anything. He'd been wounded before, even seriously. But in all of those times, a week or two of recovery had generally been sufficient to return him to peak condition. This time, however, was a different story altogether. That, more than anything, had him feeling restless and caged no matter how many times he told himself this frustration was useless. It didn't help that there was so much he _should_ be doing, both as Diego and Zorro.

"You really aren't very good at this, are you?"

Diego turned his head to find his father standing a few feet into the room from the doorway.

"On a permanent basis, not actually, no."

Alejandro's mouth twisted in an ironic sideways smile. "And for all these years, I've thought that books and studies were all you paid attention to."

"It's not that they are unimportant to me," Diego said. The honesty between them was too new for Diego to risk it by allowing even such a minor misunderstanding.

But Alejandro nodded. "I know. But they are not all that is important to you. For a man of action, to be forced to rest can be purest torture. That, I do understand."

It was clear that he did. Over the last few weeks, it became clear that his father understood a great many more things than Diego might have thought. If the enforced holiday and the length of his recuperation were frustrating, this at least was not. He'd never realized how burdensome the secrets between them had become until suddenly they were gone. Felipe was a fierce and invaluable ally, but to have someone of his father's experience to rely on had been unexpectedly liberating. It would probably be safer if Alejandro were still in the dark, but Diego could not wish it so, not when he was able to finally be able to speak to his father with his own mind, without watching every word to make sure nothing of Zorro leaked out.

"You are going to have to get used to the idea that you have to rely on other people sometimes," Alejandro said, coming over to sit in the chair beside Diego's. "The Lord above knows how difficult a lesson I still find it, but you have to give yourself time to recover."

"I do know that," Diego said, "but after so long, it is a difficult adjustment."

Alejandro nodded. "Zorro will be back on a permanent basis soon enough, as much as I wish I could prevent it."

Though the revelation of Zorro's identity had brought Diego and his father closer than they'd ever been, Diego still regretted what it must mean.

"There is much less danger to being Zorro than you might think," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "Bandits are, in general, not the most formidable of foes, and the soldiers at the garrison are so used to losing to Zorro that they barely even try."

Alejandro's impatient look told him how well he believed that. "Leaving aside the pure ridiculousness of that statement, it isn't the danger. Or at least that isn't all." He paused for a moment, shook his head. "I hate to see you so alone, Diego."

"I am not alone," Diego said. "There is you and Felipe."

His father shook his head. "Felipe has been a better friend to you than I had ever known, but he is just a boy. I am talking about companionship, someone to share your life with. Your mother and I had so little time together, but at least we had those ten years. Not enough, it can never be enough, but I would never trade them. You deserve to have a family, children. A life."

"You know that's impossible. At least for the present," Diego said, though not without some private regret. "It would be too dangerous, and unfair to her."

"What happened to the life of Zorro being danger free?" Alejandro asked darkly. "And is asking her to wait all of these years really so much better?"

Felipe interrupted them with a loud knock.

Victoria has arrived, he signed. She would like to speak with Diego.

Diego started from his chair, but Alejandro restrained him with a hand on his arm. "Please tell her that Diego will be with her in just a moment."

Felipe nodded, looking a little confused, and left the room.

"She deserves the chance to decide for herself," Alejandro said. "She is a strong woman who knows her own mind. I can tell you from personal experience that it is better to know the truth, even if it does mean added worry and yes, some danger."

Alejandro released his arm and Diego stood, thinking his father was finished. But when he reached the door his father called to him again.

"Diego, when you were missing, and then when you were so ill—well, I was too concerned with you to observe much else. But if one thing became clear, it is that that woman loves you, _you_, not some masked fantasy. And that is too precious a thing to waste. Think about that, will you, before you make any final decisions for the both of you?"

Diego nodded, a little surprised. His father had always been something of a closet romantic, but he usually wasn't this obvious about it.

He found Victoria in the foyer, looking lovely and cool despite the ride to the hacienda.

"It was too lovely a day to stay in the tavern," she said, smiling. "And Felipe has been telling me that you are tired of being trapped at home. I thought perhaps you might like to take a walk."

"You read my mind," Diego said, offering her his arm. Felipe hovered in the background, looking a little too obviously happy. Whatever had possessed Father was clearly contagious.

They wandered out the back of the main house and down the path toward the wilder sections of the ranch. The day was bright but not overly so, with a clear blue sky and a light breeze. It was a lovely day, made more so by the company.

"I saw the alcalde riding your horse today," Victoria said, looking over to the pastures where the de la Vega horses were being kept for the day."

"Yes, Father gave it to him as a gift." Diego couldn't help but smile at the memory. His father had wanted to discharge any debt between himself and de Soto, and de Soto couldn't refuse such public generosity. "He said he would have no such cowardly horse on his property." It truly was sort of amazing, how angry Alejandro had been with that horse.

"It did abandon you twice in the middle of a fight, Diego," Victoria said, looking a little irritated herself. "I only hope it continues in this habit with the alcalde."

They fell into silence as they walked, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Like his relationship with his father, his friendship with Victoria had taken a strange turn after recent events, although it wasn't as sharp or well-defined. He only knew that he felt comfortable with her, on a level they had never achieved before.

"How is the town recovering?" Diego asked after a while.

She shook her head, a small line of concern appearing between her brows. "Slowly, but it is getting better. The people are beginning to feel safe and trust the alcalde's patrols. With Zorro returned from the dead yet again, it makes it easier. I do not know what we would do without him."

"And you?" Diego asked, feeling some of his comfort evaporate at this mention of Zorro. "I heard that his appearances have been few."

"I have not talked to him, not since the day of Domingo's death," she said, but she sounded content. "He has only appeared a few times since then, and never in the town."

"I would have thought you would be angrier, after the way you parted. With the alcalde not entirely contained, I thought he should be making more appearances."

She nodded, smiling a little. "I was angry, for a while, but that was when I thought he was dead. But then he returned, and even though he was clearly badly injured and tired, he still fought for us. How could I—how could anyone—be angry after that?"

She looked up at him, her dark eyes intense. "I think sometimes it must be very hard to be Zorro—when he takes off the mask, I mean, and has no one in his real life know what he has done for this town. And to fight day after day, alone, always coming to the rescue—I cannot be angry if he needs a rest."

This was getting a little too close to the truth for Diego's comfort.

Victoria smiled, seriousness forgotten. "I was convinced Zorro was dead, but he has come back to me. And for a while there, I thought I had lost my best friend as well, but here you are, almost back to normal. I have much to be grateful for, Diego. Don't worry about me."

They had walked fairly far now. The hacienda was nowhere in sight. His father would probably start getting antsy if he didn't reappear soon, but he wasn't ready to go back, not quite yet. They'd wandered down a not often used path to a small stream. At this time of year, the water was very low, but it was enough to support a fair amount of vegetation along its banks.

Victoria pulled him along when he paused and they walked along a very old, not often used path leading down to the stream.

"This is lovely," she said, gesturing at the wild greenery.

"Yes," Diego said, but he wasn't looking at the plants.

She shook her head in exaggerated exasperation and pulled him along the path again.

"Oh!' she said, pulling away from his arm and running up the path a few yards. She paused there, where a rose bush bloomed, its long viney branches covered in glowing golden blossoms. It was a very particular flower. He'd thought it only grew in one spot, further upstream, but apparently a stray seed had made its way down the water to bloom a second time.

Victoria bent her face to the blossoms as they swayed gently in the wind. His mother's rose, the rose Zorro so often left for his querrida, had always had the most intoxicating scent.

"Do these grow wild?" she asked, standing straight again.

"Not exactly," he said, more easily than he thought he would. "As far as I know they only grow along this stream on our ranch."

She smiled once and nodded slowly. Her eyes were again filled with that secret knowledge. "I have always liked these, but I never knew where to find them."

She plucked a rose from one of the long canes and then wandered over to press it into his hand. Her free hand strayed upwards to lie lightly along his jaw. "You might give them to me in public from now on. I can't forever be meeting masked men in back alleys."

His world tilted a little, but not by much. "Perhaps I will."

She smiled and moved down the path. He stood there for a moment, looking down at the flowers. And then he looked up again, after Victoria, and considered.

She looked back at him over her shoulder. "Coming, Diego?"

He hurried after her, running a little to catch up, and found her there ahead on the path, waiting for him.

Author's Note: I am currently _thinking_ of writing a sequel to this, but I think I will be concentrating most of my efforts on my new story "Winter's Shade" for the moment. But, as people have asked about it, I did want to note that this might not be the final chapter in this particular story universe.


End file.
